


Things He Couldn't Take

by AizaPonders



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: And I'm still bad at tagging, Angst, Anxiety, Bulimia, Coma, Eventual Happy Ending, I'm Sorry, M/M, Pain, Panic Attacks, Rape, Rape Recovery, Self-Hatred, Suga is raped, Violence, attempted suicide, daichi loves suga, eventual Daisuga, more pain and sadness, suga doesn't die, suga's mom is awesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 20
Words: 102,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AizaPonders/pseuds/AizaPonders
Summary: When a teacher asks Suga to stay after class, he never expects for things to turn out the way they do. He doesn’t expect to be raped, to be left bleeding on the classroom floor. He’s determined to not let anyone figure out what happened, though, and he’s determined to put it all in his past. But how long can he keep up his crumbling façade? And what happens if the memories turn into reality again?





	1. A Black Shoe

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> -This is my first ever fic, also, this is set loosely in the fall of Suga's third year.
> 
> ***Trigger Warnings for RAPE***  
> If you want to skip the scene, skip everything between the sets of asterisks (***)

Suga is sliding his notebooks into his school bag after class when he hears his name called by Nakamura-sensei. _What could this be?_ The gray-haired boy spares a glance in Daichi’s direction, squinting slightly at the orange glow of late afternoon sun crashing through the window behind his friend. Daichi pats him on the shoulder and says, “Don’t worry about being late to practice” as he and the others file out through the door and toward the freedom of afterschool activities.

Suga sighs. He wonders if perhaps he didn’t do as well on Monday’s test as he thought he had. He’d hardly slept Sunday night, spending most of it texting Daichi and Asahi about new developments in a TV show they were all watching. Daichi has a sixth sense when it comes to test taking, so it doesn’t surprise Suga that staying up half the night hadn’t hurt his score at all. Pulling the strap of his bag over his shoulder and steeling himself against his guilty, racing heart, Suga makes his way to Sensei’s desk when the room is finally empty. _I’ll just promise do better on the next one_ , he tells himself.

“Sugawara-kun, on your last test,” Sensei begins, pulling the papers out from his desk drawer, “you scored significantly lower than you usually do.”

 _I was right_ , he thinks. He sucks in a breath, ready to assure Nakamura-sensei that he’ll study harder for the next one when he’s cut off before he can begin.

“Given your previous scores I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and offer you an extra credit opportunity so this doesn’t affect your grade.”

Suga blinks and his face breaks into a relieved smile. “Thank you, Sensei.”

Nakamura smiles back. “There’s a student who needs tutoring and I’m swamped with grading all these damn papers I decided to assign. It’d actually be a big help to me if you could do me this favor. I’ll go get her now.”

“Yes, sir,” Suga responds, lumbering back to his seat and sliding his bag to the ground before sitting. He supposes he’ll be more than a few minutes late to practice. _Daichi can do without me for one day_ , he laughs to himself. He waits, idly playing with his pencil until Sensei comes back with a girl who looks vaguely familiar. Possibly a second year?

***

By the time the second year thanks both Nakamura and Suga for their help, the latter is antsy to get to practice. He thought he’d be happy for the reprieve, if only for the day, but it’s been too long without the touch of a volleyball on his fingertips, and he misses it. He glances at his watch. Practice should technically be over by now, but the way his team is, Suga knows they’ll be at it for at least another hour. Hinata’s cry of “one more” rings clearly in his head and he grins.

“Is that all, Nakamura-sensei?” the gray-haired teen asks, bounding up to his teacher who’s leaning against his desk, hair tied up in a knot at the back of his head. It sort of reminds him of Asahi, and suddenly he’s thinking of Asahi hitting one of his tosses.

“Call me Shinnosuke,” Nakamura-sensei says in a low voice that takes Suga by surprise.

“Huh?” is all that makes it out of his mouth before Sensei’s lips cover his own. They’re fierce and demanding. Suga’s initial shock dissipates and he tries to push the older man away but only succeeds in dropping his school bag to the floor. He goes cold. “Wha-what are you doing?” Suga splutters when he’s finally able to break the kiss. The other man is silent, eyes hazy with something he doesn’t want to think about. “Sensei?”

Nakamura pushes the teen back against the chalkboard, pinning his wrists above him. This time he drags his tongue along the boy’s neck in thick, wet strokes.

Suga shivers. “Stop,” he pleads, disgust choking his airway. “Stop, sensei. Please, stop.” He’s unable to pull his hands free of Nakamura’s iron grip, and as the man’s free hand slips underneath Suga’s shirt, panic shatters any logic.

He struggles. He begs. He cries. He curses this man who tricked him. Anything he can think of to get out of his current situation. Maybe someone will come to check on him. Maybe someone will walk down the hall and hear him. _It’s so late that no one is probably even in the main school building anymore,_ a traitorous voice in his head mentions.

Amidst his fighting, Suga lands and knee to his teacher’s groin, and Suga doesn’t need an extra second to know that this is his chance to escape. He breaks free of Sensei’s grasp and jumps around the desk, thinking only about reaching the door and the hallway beyond, thinking only about getting out of this room. He only makes it a few steps before heavy hands shove him and topple him into the desks in the front row.

Rough hands twist in his hair and grab his upper arm, hauling him to his feet and back to the teacher’s desk. He’s aware of pens and books crashing to the floor. He’s aware of Nakamura-sensei’s labored breathing. He’s aware of what’s to come when his face slams into the wood of the now cleared desk. His heart races like it does at match point when Karasuno is the one that is down a point, except—no, except nothing like that. It’s so much worse. Suga feels like he’s going to throw up.

A hand wriggles into his pants and attempts to jerk him to hardness, but despite the man’s ministrations, Suga remains limp and unyielding, cold disgust and fear ever present in his bloodstream. _This can’t be happening. I can’t believe this…_ Suga zones in on an ink stain in his field of vision. It’s shaped sort of like a shoe. He wonders how it got there and when. Did someone forget to cap their pen? Had one exploded? He couldn’t tell for sure if it was blue or black ink.

“Stop being so stubborn,” Nakamura growls, suddenly yanking on his student’s cock and arm simultaneously. Suga yelps, instantly brought back to his present horror. Nakamura laughs at the noise and grinds himself against Suga’s thigh. “You feel that? You want that, don’t you?”

Suga shakes his head, unable to speak. _Please, if someone—literally anyone—saves me right now, I don’t even care that they would see me bent over a desk. Please… Daichi…_ Sensei bites his shoulder and grinds some more.

“I’ve wanted you for so long.” Nakamura’s breathing is uneven. “Sugawara Koushi.” He relishes every syllable of the boy’s name coming from his mouth. Then he’s yanking down Suga’s pants and undershorts, spreading the setter’s legs with a knee, a hand exploring and laying claim to the ass beneath him. “Sugawara,” Nakamura breathes, pure lust. “This is why I like athletes. So…” His words fade into a moan.

The teen’s teeth grit together, realizing that this man has stolen his first kiss, has touched him where no one else has before, is planning to steal another of his firsts. And he’s been powerless to stop it. _I’m not powerless. I’m not powerless. I’m not powerless. I’m strong. I—_

Suga pushes against Nakamura with full force, ready to make another fast break for the door. For a moment he thinks he’s achieved his goal, feeling the weight leave his back and hearing his teacher stumble. But he is wrong. Nakamura-sensei only stumbles a little, and quickly slams Suga back down, shoving two fingers into his hole without preamble or apology. Suga shouts in protest.

Pain shoots up his back, splitting him in two, as his vision goes white.

“Don’t like that, huh?” Nakamura-sensei asks sadistically. He starts thrusting his fingers. “How about this, Sugawara?”

Suga tries to breathe. Suga tries to breathe through the pain—through the revolting feeling of those rough fingers rubbing against his insides. He leans into the desk even more, trying to get away. When a third finger joins the others, Suga gives up. He can’t rationalize the pain. He can’t contextualize it. He doesn’t know when it’s going to end and that’s almost as bad as the agony itself. It’s not like taking a volleyball to the face or falling badly, where it’s over in a second and the lasting echoes of hurt are not nearly as bad as the initial shock. No. This just keeps going and going and—

A sob escapes him. And once he starts crying, he can’t stop.

“You’re so tight,” Nakamura sighs. Suga doesn’t realize that the fingers are gone until the tip of Nakamura’s erection touches at his entrance. “This might hurt a little for you.”

The warning in no way prepares Suga for the agony of feeling his insides shred apart as Nakamura plunges into him in one leisurely thrust. The teen’s mouth goes wide, as if in a scream, but no sound escapes him. His breath completely leaves his lungs. Nakamura leans down and covers Suga’s body with his, teeth nibbling at the boy’s ear, panting and groaning right into it, as he thrusts.

“Such a nice hole,” he moans. “You’re so hot and tight. Fuck. So good.”

One hand holds his hip with a force that will definitely bruise while the other twists an arm behind his back. Suga can’t feel his fingers.

“Sugawara. So fucking good. You’re such a great hole.”

Suga scrunches his eyes closed. It hurts too much to waste energy on pointless things like keeping his eyes open. He wants to sleep. He wants to forget this and everything that happened today. He needs to forget the feeling of this man moving inside him.

Inside him.

Nakamura-sensei comes inside him. When Nakamura pulls out, Suga feels his legs tremble for a second before he collapses to the ground. At the man’s feet, he lies just as he fell, in a tangle of limbs, unable to move his aching body. His lower back is on fire. His backside feels sticky. He hopes he can sleep now.

But Nakamura flips him around and wipes his cock off on Suga’s uniform shirt, leaving behind a smear of blood and cum. _I’m bleeding_ , Suga muses idly. He blinks slowly. _Can I sleep now?_ Nakamura grabs him by the hair again, and this time it’s easy because his body is limp and pliant. Sensei positions Suga on his knees, but has to keep him upright and hold his head steady. A hand slips into his mouth and pushes it open wide. _Gross; his fingers.._. Then Suga comes face to face with Sensei’s once again hardening member. Oh. _Oh_. Suga closes his eyes again, waiting for it all to be over.  

His mouth fills with the man’s dripping, hard cock. The tip touches the back of his throat, triggering his gag reflex and making him jerk back, but his sensei doesn’t care—just keeps pushing, deeper—a firm grip in that gray hair.

Nakamura releases a breathy moan. He drives in and out slowly, eventually picking up the pace, and all Suga can do is try to breathe and pray it will be over soon. When Nakamura begins thrusting in a frenzy, hips finally stuttering, Suga cringes, receiving the load down his throat with no way to spit it out. It’s salty and bitter, the teen now fully aware of the taste and weight of Nakamura’s dick heavy on his tongue.

Nakamura pulls himself out of the cavern of Suga’s wet mouth and releases the boy’s silver hair. He pulls up his pants and slides his belt into place. “You were such a good fuck. I’ll make sure to change that test score to an A.”

Suga watches through blurry eyes as Nakamura-sensei picks up his briefcase, grabs his coat from the door, and leaves as if this was just another ordinary day of lecture. He lies there, staring at the door for what feels like an hour, fingers bent in the foreground of his vision creating little pillars and partitions. He had tried to reach the door so many times, and now that he’s free to do so, he’s immobile. He feels… Suga feels so tired.

***

It takes him a while to pick himself up off the floor, but he does, a strange calm blanketing him, blemished only by the throbbing ache of his lower half. He dresses and buttons his coat to cover the stains on his shirt. Slinging his bag over his shoulder he makes his way to the bike rack at an excruciatingly slow pace. From there Sugawara Koushi limps homes, leaning heavily on his bike. He grits his teeth as if that will lessen the pain.


	2. Chicken Broth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -There are several instances of puking in this chapter so if you don't like that, sorry  
> -Also flashbacks and ptsd  
> -And this chapter is twice as long as the first

 

He pretends to sleep. He knows his mother is worried by the way she calls him “Kou-chan,” a nickname she discarded when he graduated to junior high. Suga feels the bed dip as she sits beside him, and suddenly he wants to cry, wants to be held, wants his mom to tell him everything is going to be all right. When he was little his mom was a superhero who could kiss away any pain. As he grew, she taught him talking worked just as well as a parent’s kiss could, and she encouraged him to never neglect others who were hurting. He has always tried to follow her advice, but what do you do when you’re the one hurting? What do you do when your throat’s sore and aching and there’s a lump there stopping any words from coming out?

He curls in on himself, forgetting all pretenses, and tries to keep himself from breaking.

“Kou-chan,” his mother sighs again, running her fingers through his hair. “Why don’t you go take a bath and I’ll change these sheets and empty the bin.”

Suga doesn’t answer. He feels guilty about burdening her with having to take care of him when she has work in a few hours. He can’t stop thinking words like, _pathetic, burden, useless, dirty_. Last night he threw up in the trashcan beside his bed because he knew he wouldn’t make it to the toilet, and the stench has surely permeated throughout the entire room by now, but his mom doesn’t move to rush him. It smells disgusting. He must smell disgusting too.

After a few minutes of silence, Suga’s guilt gets the better of him and he turns, wincing as he does. Water buds in his eyes in response to the throbbing below his waist. Not only had the walk home last night been excruciating, but trying to clean himself had left him in tears kneeling in the bathtub.

His mom smiles, brown eyes hiding a hint of smugness, like she’s proud of herself for getting Suga to face her. “All right,” she says, worry gone from her voice as it takes on a commanding tone. “Go bathe, Koushi. Then come down to the living room.”

Suga nods, still unsure of how his voice will sound. He hasn’t tried it out yet and he doesn’t want to in front of his mom in case it breaks or wavers.

The trip to the bathroom requires two stops, Suga leaning against the wall and telling himself that it doesn’t hurt _that_ bad. Once there, he strips out of his shirt, which is damp with sweat, and the rest of his clothes. Against his better judgement, he glances at the mirror.

Bile rises in his throat at the sight of the bruises on his hips and the hickey on his shoulder. His peripheral darkens as the memories claw at his mind. The feeling of Nakamura-sensei’s body sprawled over him, the sound of his breathing, the dark wooden desk beneath him. Trapped—that’s how he felt, _feels_. It feels like he is still in the classroom, stuck beneath his teacher. He can taste sweat and cum in his mouth. Suga’s stomach heaves. He falls to his knees over the toilet, nothing but bile and water coming up, having spent the night already emptying the contents of his stomach.

He brushes his teeth before he gets in the bath. The warm water is soothing on his back, which causes him to relax for a moment. He breathes. He promises himself that his parents can never know, and neither can anyone else. The truth would only hurt his mom, and how would everyone else look at him if they knew?

He brushes his teeth again after getting out of the bath.

When he walks into the living room he can hear the washing machine going in the laundry room and the sound of dishes being washed in the kitchen. Usually Suga is up first, making breakfast for his parents and doing the dishes, and then heading out to practice early with Tanaka, Hinata, and Kageyama. It feels odd to sit down on the couch to a bowl of soup and a mug of tea already made.

“Mom,” Suga calls out softly. He practiced speaking in the bathroom before coming downstairs, knowing that if he’s going to keep up this pretense of being fine he’ll eventually be expected to talk. She strides into the room wiping her hands on a small towel.

“Yes, my sick child,” she chimes dramatically.

Suga tugs at the fresh blanket she had laid out on the couch for him and eyes the corner of it while he says, “You put my stuff in the washer, took out the trash, made me soup and tea, left this blanket for me, and started on dishes all in the time I was taking a bath?”

“I’m quick, aren’t I? It’s because it’s Friday. Fridays inspire me.”

The setter’s mouth trembles, and he bends his head down further to hide it. “You really are a superhero,” he whispers. “Why all this though? You don’t have to do all this for me.” _I don’t deserve it_ , he doesn’t say.

It’s silent for a full minute—so long that Suga’s sure that his mother must not have heard him and left the room. Then she speaks, voice not one hundred percent normal when she says, “That fever sure has rattled your brain, Kou-chan. I think there’s some medicine upstairs. Finish your soup before it gets cold.” And she leaves the room for longer than it takes to search the medicine cabinet.

The soup smells good, a chicken broth with celery and carrots cut small. Suga dips his spoon into the steamy bowl, stomach instantly growling at being neglected. He knows everyone says it, but his mom’s cooking really is the best.

As expected the soup is otherworldly, but before he can smile in appreciation, he swallows, the feeling of liquid falling down his throat too similar to yesterday’s…No. Suga clenches the utensil in his hand and forces another spoonful of soup into his mouth. His throat feels tight and refuses to let him swallow, so the liquid just sits there in his mouth while Suga holds his breath, trying to force himself to down the warm broth. After plugging his nose with one hand, he finally does, but he’s left feeling more defeated than triumphant. He can feel it. Sitting in his stomach. Sloshing around when he breathes. Sitting there like that man’s seed was yesterday the entire walk home. It feels revolting.

When his mom comes back downstairs with the news that she’d called the school and found a fever reducer/pain killer, Suga forces himself to swallow the entire bowl of soup spoon by spoon by spoon. For his mom’s sake. And for his mom’s sake, he waits a full five minutes after she leaves for work before limping into the downstairs bathroom and puking it all up.

***

He can’t bring himself to get out of bed for school on Monday either, despite spending the weekend resting and talking himself into it. At the last minute, he decides against school, pulling his comforter above his head and waiting for his mother’s inevitable check in.

Suga can now walk without constant pain impeding him, though it’s still there. And the bruises have turned a yellow color, which he thinks means they’re almost gone. He slept most of last night. These could be considered victories. But he still can’t keep his food down. He flinches at his father’s closeness. Hours upon hours are spent in his bed. Suga still remembers every detail of that evening.

He spends the better part of the morning drifting in and out sleep, being unconscious a hobby he’s taken a liking to. But soon it takes more energy to try to keep his eyes closed than to let them open, so he wraps his green and gray comforter around himself and trudges down to the living room to distract himself with the TV. His stomach rumbles, but he’s learned to accept the emptiness. He feels vaguely accomplished when it does happen, happy that he doesn’t have the weight of a foreign substance sitting inside him.

In the evening, the doorbell rings.

Suga’s dad is in the kitchen preparing dinner and his mother isn’t home yet, so Suga rises from his nest of blankets and pillows on the couch and answers the door. He is not prepared to find Daichi standing on the welcome mat. Daichi wears his Karasuno Volleyball Club jacket zipped only halfway and smiles mildly, eyes scrunching around the edges like always Something in Suga’s chest tightens. So much has happened and changed—Suga knows he’s an entirely different person despite his attempt at acting otherwise—and here is his best friend looking perfectly fucking fine. He sort of wishes that wasn’t the case.

Yet, that’s not totally it. Suga can’t quite put his finger on it.

“Suga,” Daichi says. “How are you feeling? I brought your homework from last Friday and today.”

The gray-haired boy doesn’t know how to respond to the question, so he just says, “Thanks,” and takes to folder from the captain’s outstretched hand. Silently, he searches the captain’s face, trying to discern why there’s resentment resting in his own heart right now. Nothing immediately springs to mind and still no words come to him.

“I guess I’ll get going and let you rest?” Daichi adds, looking confused as to why Suga hasn’t invited him inside. Suga briefly wonders why himself. He still can’t figure out how to unclog his throat to give a response, even if he had known what to say, so an awkward silence floats through the air between them.

“Is that Sawamura-kun?” Suga’s dad suddenly calls from the dining room. His voice is innocent and cordial. “Why don’t you stay for dinner?”

Daichi’s dark eyes immediately go to Suga’s. He feels the almost omnipresent guilt rise to the surface of his skin again as he considers Daichi. Looking at Daichi hurts.

“I don’t think I can,” the dark-haired captain says slowly, gaze unwavering.

_I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me._

“Are you sure?” His dad walks toward them. “I’m sure Koushi would love to have some company after spending the weekend cooped up in here.” He sets his hand heavily on his son’s shoulder as an earnest smile paints itself across his face.

Suga internally winces and swiftly twists out from under his dad’s hand, heart still racing from the spike of adrenaline he’s just received. He shuffles away from the door, palm placed flat against his chest, and realizes that if Daichi stays then most of his father’s attention will be directed toward their guest. _Mom’s too._ _I won’t be under as much scrutiny._ Suga breathes.

“Yes. Please stay, Daichi,” the setter remarks.

Daichi seems confused by this sudden turn of events, but doesn’t hesitate to reply with a nonchalant, “Oh. Well, I guess.”

***

During dinner, Suga’s parents pester Daichi with a barrage of questions about how his parents are doing, how school is going, and how the volleyball team is shaping up. Suga’s free to nibble at the vegetables and silently push the rest of his food around, nodding occasionally to pretend like he’s listening. He again replays the events of last Thursday. He’s been analyzing the decisions he made and deciding how it could have all turned out differently.

It’s easy to become absorbed in his own thoughts. _I could have asked Daichi to wait for me. I could have turned down the extra credit opportunity, going with my original train of thought of simply studying harder next time. I could have offered to walk the second-year girl to her locker. I could have fought harder._

“Suga?”

The gray-haired teen twitches and raises his gaze from his plate to see that he and Daichi are the only ones left in the dining room. Daichi pushes his empty plate aside and leans across the table.

“Are you okay?” he asks, eyes wide and worried. “You haven’t eaten.”

Feeling the weight of Daichi’s stare makes Suga’s head spin. What if he keeps asking questions? What if he figures it out? Will his face scrunch in disgust or maybe fold into pity—or what if it instead turns to disbelief? _What if he doesn’t believe me?_ That would hurt the most, Suga decides.

“Where are my parents?” is the only thing he can think to say to change the subject.

Daichi retracts his body and leans back in his chair. He gestures toward the living room. “I think they’re fighting over whether to watch a drama or some American movie. Which reminds me… Did you see the new episode of ‘King of Basketball’ yesterday?”

Suga had, but it didn’t excite him like it had last week, when they’d stayed up discussing it.

_“Why introduce backstory now? In the last quarter of the game!” Suga had complained. He sat cross-legged on his bed, notes and textbook open beside him in case he got the urge to study more, which he hadn’t. He had a cheap flip phone, and currently it was on speaker._

_“They’ve got to raise the stakes,” came Daichi’s voice through the small speaker. “They’re trying to make us feel for the other team.”_

_“That’s something they should have done before the game started or in the early stages!”_

_“So you’d rather have an exposition dump in the beginning?” Daichi countered, arguing just for the sake of it Suga knew._

_“I think it’s nice here,” Asahi piped in.  “It gives my heart a break from all the twists and turns of these past few episodes.”_

_Suga and Daichi both had to agree with that._

_Then Daichi’s voice had gotten excited again. “Imagine if they made a volleyball anime.”_

_“They probably will.”_

_“What kind of superpowers would the protagonist have? And what color hair.” Asahi seemed to be very taken with the idea._

_“Purple hair, definitely,” Daichi responded immediately._

_“I think it should be set in college, and it should be a co-ed beach volleyball team.”_

_“Asahi…” Suga laughed._

Suga responds with a shrug and a quiet, “No, sorry. I forgot to.”

‘King of Basketball’ was the show that had indirectly caused him to fail that test Monday. That test was the reason Sensei had asked him to stay after school. In his mind, Suga hears Nakamura’s voice calling him. He sees the way the harsh orange sunlight crashes through the windows. He feels Daichi’s hand on his shoulder—hears the captain say, “Don’t worry about being late to practice.” Daichi. Daichi who hadn’t failed the test. Daichi who walked to practice and left Suga in that classroom with their teacher. Daichi who never came back to check on him, even when he—he needed someone to save him.

No one did.

Suga mentally slaps himself. He can’t dwell on it. None of it is his friend’s fault. He said he’s going to pretend that everything’s all right and so far he’s been doing a terrible job.

When he walks Daichi to door that evening, he does his best to smile. He leans against the doorway.

“I’m sorry, Daichi,” Suga sighs. “I’m just really out of it today.”

The captain touches his arm and Suga doesn’t flinch. “You’d tell me if there was something wrong, right?”

“Of course. You’re my best friend,” Suga replies, holding Daichi’s gaze and pretending that each word doesn’t feel like glass shards scraping against his throat.

***

He arrives late for morning practice so that he can change alone without fear of anyone noticing his bruises. Sneakers squeak against the floor, volleyballs thud against forearms, and shouts of “nice receive” and “nice cover” bounce off the high vaulted ceiling of the gym. These are his teammates who he’s won with and lost with, argued with and cried with, and laughed his ass off with. His team gathered in a place he feels safe. He almost wants to smile.

He thinks that perhaps he should compile a list of places where he feels safe, if for no other reason than to remind himself that there are still places like that that exist for him.

“Suga-san!” Noya yells when he sees Suga in the doorway. Before Suga knows what’s happening, Noya is running toward him, Hinata not far behind, grins splitting their faces. “You’re back. Are you feeling better?”

“Oh, well,” he starts, rubbing the back of his neck. He glances at his teammates gathered around him. He puts up a practiced toothy grin. “I’m not feeling one hundred percent, but I’ll do my best.”

“All right!” Hinata exults, jumping into the air. As everyone heads back to practice, the orange-haired spiker keeps pace with Suga, excitedly relaying the events from all the practices Suga missed. “And then Tsukishima was like _whoomp_ and the ball went all _whoosh_ and I was like _gyahh_ , and Kageyama was pissed…”

Suga chuckles genuinely.

“I hope you don’t have to miss practice again, Suga-san,” Hinata says. “It wasn’t the same without you.”

Suga blushes and turns his head away. “Thanks, Hinata.” He joins the group where Daichi is dividing them into teams to play a practice match, able to breathe a little easier around his friends. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t think that his presence, or absence, would make that much of a difference—seeing as Kageyama is the starting setter, Daichi is perfectly capable of leading without him, and the first years have matured quite a bit since their first meeting.

Out of the corner of his eye, he notices Hinata and Kageyama shoving each other and arguing about something volleyball related. _So_ , Suga thinks, _maybe they haven’t matured_ that _much._

Everything’s still the same. Last night his father had told him, “The longer you’re away, the harder it will be to go back.” It seemed he had been talking about catching up with schoolwork, but the same can be said about melting back in with the team. Or maybe, the more time goes on, the further he’ll be from his former self. He doesn’t want that to be the case. _Reliability, that’s my strength. I can’t lose that_.

“Let’s do this,” Suga says to his team. They fall into formation and the silver-haired setter meets his captain’s gaze from across the net. They smirk in unison. “Let’s win this set!”

***

Daichi can’t help but watch the vice-captain throughout morning practice, worry flowing to relief turning to worry again. There are moments when his friend seems completely fine, eyes reflecting the familiar excitement as they track the volleyball through the air. Then there are moments that make Daichi glance twice. There are times when Suga looks as if he’s waiting for this to be over. In the pauses between plays and the breaths where his team rotates, when Suga must think no one is looking, he looks…restless? Daichi doesn’t know what to think—doesn’t know if it’s the illness still lingering in Suga’s body or something else entirely.

During morning classes, he doesn’t have the chance to worry over whether Suga looks sick or not. But during lunch, Suga only picks at his food despite making a blatant effort to laugh like everything is perfectly fine. His gray-haired friend is obviously trying really hard, so Daichi decides to go along with him, filling any sneaking silences with his voice so Suga doesn’t feel uncomfortable.

“We have a practice match with Nekoma in less than a month,” Daichi informs his friend. “Takeda just arranged it. So, we’ll be going to Tokyo again.”

Suga forces a smile and Daichi bites his lip. He knows everyone has their bad days, or week, and he doesn’t want to put Suga on the spot or irritate him with constant questioning. He just wants…

He just wants Suga to smile at him. For real.

***

When it’s time for them to switch classrooms for their afternoon studies, Suga feels the pit of his stomach open up. Suddenly his brain is moving too fast even though his body slows to prolong the inevitable. He’ll be in that room again. Nakamura-sensei will be there, in the same room, with that desk. He’ll be in the same room as Nakamura and the desk and he’ll have to sit quietly and calmly like nothing happened, staring at the place where he was pushed down and raped. Nakamura-sensei will stand at the head of the class with those eyes that had looked at him with such lust, writing on the chalkboard with those fingers that were inside him. Suga can _feel_ them.

Heart racing, he steps across the threshold and quickly makes his way to his seat, head down. He doesn’t look up as he hears other students sit down around him. He feels exposed—like everyone is staring, like every whisper is about him. He feels dirty, sullied, used in a way he knows his classmates aren’t and thinking about how much truly separates him from them makes him incredibly lonely.

Hands clap and then an all too familiar voice is saying, “Good afternoon, everyone” and the class chants back “Good afternoon, Sensei.” Suga remains silent. He still doesn’t lift his gaze from his own desk, extremely fascinated with the way the tips of his fingers are turning white from gripping the edge.

“Aw, Sugawara, you’re here today.”

Suga’s breath hitches, so he decides to hold it instead. _Please. Please no. Please don’t address me in front of the class. Please don’t say my name like you expect me to be the same Sugawara I was last week. Don’t say my name like you didn’t do anything to defile it. “Sugawara…You are such a nice hole.” That’s all I was. That’s all I was. That’s all I was. “You were such a good fuck.” Your voice, your hands, my tears… It’s all I can think. Why are you the only thing I can think about? Why is_ that _the only thing? Maybe it is all I am now. Because I can’t seem to fake my way back to who I was._

“Sugawara?” the voice of his nightmares asks, concern artificial and sickly sweet. “Are you feeling sick?”

_Sugawara…Such a good fuck._

His stomach heaves, but he forces everything back down, hands clapping over his mouth, chair scraping against the floor as he suddenly stands. Frozen, he stays there for one, two, three heartbeats. Then he bolts from the room.

He runs.

He runs, stomach twisting and heart thumping slightly off beat. He runs until he’s far from his classroom and somewhere in the first year’s hallway. On wobbly legs he enters the nearest bathroom, locks the stall door behind him, and vomits what little of his lunch he had actually eaten into the toilet. _Get it together, Koushi. Calm down._ Suga breathes and breathes and breathes. And doesn’t cry.

“Sugawara-san?”

Shaking, he pulls himself to his feet and exits the stall, wiping his mouth as he goes. “I’m fine, Kageyama,” he mumbles through his fingers, stepping around his alarmed kouhai to rinse his mouth.

“What are you doing in this hallway?” Kageyama asks. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing. I just happened to be here.” Feeling slightly unbalanced but determined to get far away from this bathroom and Kageyama, Suga makes his way to the door. He leans heavily on the walls to get there and he stumbles a little, slumps forward against the knob.

“Sugawara-san!” the younger setter yelps. “Here. Let me help you,” he says, reaching for his senpai.

Suga whips around. “I said I’m fine,” he barks, a glare in his brown eyes. “I’ve got it.” He pulls the door open and then he’s jogging again, this time in a new direction. There’s not many places he can go in this school, but he knows he’s not ready to go back to that classroom just yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Poor Kageyama was just trying to help. And Daichi just wants Suga to smile  
> -I kind of like how Suga has complicated feelings toward Daichi right now even though he's trying not to. So be prepared for the angst to continue  
> -Next chapter will have more of the team, yay  
> -Hope you stick around


	3. 100

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This chapter is late, it's long, it's of questionable quality, and it's mostly from Daichi's perspective.  
> -There's like one or two mini flashbacks to the rape, so careful  
> 

“Um, Captain,” Yamaguchi says during practice Wednesday morning. “Is Sugawara-san okay?”

They both turn to look at the boy in question who’s currently standing in a corner tossing a ball up into the air repeatedly. It’s break time and most everyone is drinking water, or resting on benches.

Daichi himself has been wondering what’s been bothering Suga also. It’s not like Suga to be so distant, and even if something does bother the setter, it usually makes him focus that much harder on volleyball. Instead his tosses have been sloppy and slow, and his eyes glaze over whenever there’s idle time like this, his mind somewhere else. Even now, his heart doesn’t seem to be in his tosses.

“I’m not sure, Yamaguchi. But for now, let’s just leave him be,” Daichi responds, gaze never wandering from his silver-haired friend. “I’m sure everything will work out and he’ll be back to himself in no time.”

The freckled first year walks off to Tsukishima looking unconvinced, and that continued worry seeps into Daichi’s mind and eats away at his own confidence. What if everything doesn’t right itself? Should he be more adamant about questioning Suga? Or is it really as Suga says, just the remnants of the fever he came down with last week? Whatever it is, he doesn’t have time to ponder it now. They have so much to improve upon before their joint practice with Nekoma.

“All right, let’s get back to practice!” he calls out to his team. Suga turns his head away but his grimace does not slip past Daichi. The captain doesn’t know why that one look makes him so uneasy. He attempts to shrug off the feeling and focus on volleyball.

That’s almost immediately made impossible when not even ten minutes later Suga dives to receive a spike from Tanaka, only to come up with blood on his right hand. The captain’s heart jumps into his throat at the sight, and he’s already moving despite being at the other corner of the gym.

Suga looks down at his hand, confused for a second, and then fists it.

“You’re bleeding,” Asahi is saying to the unresponsive setter as Daichi ducks under the net toward them. “You should see if the nurse is here yet.”

“Are you okay?” Daichi asks, aware of everyone’s eyes on them, restless, as Suga spaces out again, holding his bleeding hand in the other. “Suga,” Daichi practically barks. “Show me your hand.”

The gray-haired teen looks up slowly. “My hands are just really dry, so it bled when I fell. It’s nothing, really,” Suga says, suddenly alert and waving both third years off. He gives an embarrassed smile. “I’ll go wash this…”

His hands do look dry and chapped, surprisingly damaged for a setter whose life is his hands. Daichi nods, about to turn and tell everyone to get back to practice when several bright red marks catch his eye. He grabs Suga’s wrist and lifts it closer to his eyeline. “What’s up with your fingers?”

Suga yanks his arm back immediately, and looks like he’s about to snap at Daichi. But the vice-captain takes a step back. “They’re…just a little messed up. I had a rash. I’m going to go wash them now,” he whispers. “Please continue without me.”

“Okay,” Daichi replies apologetically, but Suga’s already across the gym. He scratches his head, sighing, wondering what in the hell even happened. “Okay, guys. Why don’t we just get back to practice?”

***

By lunchtime, Suga’s all smiles and apologies. He insists he’s sorry for interrupting morning practice while Daichi apologizes for making such a big deal out of nothing. The red cuts on his friend’s knuckles briefly flash in his mind. Had Suga been in a fight? He tenses at this thought. Is someone bullying him? _No. I’m overreacting. He would tell me if it was anything like that. I mean, why wouldn’t he?_ Besides, he can’t imagine _Suga_ in a fight.

After lunch, Suga’s entire body droops. He even falls asleep at his desk, not rousing until Nakamura-sensei calls his name three times. Daichi, like the rest of the class, stares on with wide eyes, unable to do anything from his seat.

Suga’s slow to pack his bags when the last bell rings. Daichi is already beside him and ready to go when Nakamura tells the gray-haired teen to stay.

He’s probably going to get chewed out for falling asleep in class, though it’s surprising that Nakamura’s actually giving Suga a semblance of privacy when the teacher has never shied away from singling out someone during a lesson before.

Before he can leave, Daichi feels a strong tug on his sleeve and looks back. The hesitant expression on his friend’s face unnerves him.

He doesn’t speak immediately and when he does it seems like he doesn’t say what he really wants to. “Wait for me outside,” Suga says in an oddly anticlimactic way after all those seconds of tension. He releases Daichi’s sleeve and turns his head without waiting for an answer.

Wait for him? Somehow, even though it’s not a complicated request, it feels like it’s supposed to be significant. It’s not something they’ve ever felt the need to arrange before. Perhaps Suga wants to talk to him privately before practice? Is that why he was dawdling when packing up his bag? Nodding even though Suga is no longer paying him any attention, he follows the last of his classmates through the door.

He discards his black jacket at his feet, and, sinking to the floor beside the door, he folds his chest down over his body, sighing heavily. He never believed his third year of high school would be this stressful.

Daichi’s parents keep asking him about what colleges he’s going to apply for—if he’s made a decision yet, even if it’s preliminary. He doesn’t really know what he wants to do, let alone where he wants to be. He’s sure he wants to go to college, and he’s sure volleyball is something he wants to continue (though perhaps in a less competitive capacity), but that’s all he does know.

Meanwhile his parents are scheduling college tours and talking to his teachers every week to check in on his progress. That in itself is enough to put him on edge. Now Suga is acting strangely.

He hasn’t spoken to Suga and Asahi about what either of them are planning after graduation. From what he remembers of Asahi’s parents, they’re pretty laid back about letting their son decide his own future—not that Daichi’s parents want to decide for him, but rather they’re impatient and they have certain expectations.

“What am I doing?” Daichi croaks. He covers his face with his hands.

Since Suga’s not talking, Daichi tries to push his worries from his mind. There’s nothing he can do if Suga won’t talk to him. But he’ll keep his eyes open regardless. So, with this in mind, he performs triage on his upcoming responsibilities. _Math test next Wednesday, a trip to his aunt’s next Friday, research paper due in two and a half weeks, Nekoma joint practice in little more than three weeks._

He sighs again and glances up to the door. The teen can’t hear any yelling coming from the other side, so that must be a good sign. Maybe Nakamura isn’t really that mad.

When the door finally slides open with a dull scrape, Daichi jumps to his feet and grabs his jacket. He falls into pace with Suga who’s rubbing at his chin and walking with his shoulders held oddly stiff. The gray-haired setter doesn’t speak, but continues to scrub at his chin and cheeks.

“You scratched yourself,” Daichi notes when they reach the end of the now empty hallway. Suga stops, so Daichi does too.

Suga’s fingers lightly feel around the wrong side of his face for the scratch. _Not there_ , Daichi thinks. Everything else fades away until Daichi is completely captivated with Suga’s pale face. Without thinking, he reaches out to touch the small cut in the hollow of his cheek, and the softness of Suga’s skin feels so right underneath his fingertips. He’s imagined scenarios like this before, and in his imagination his friend’s lips were parted ever so slightly, just as they are now.

_And I shouldn’t be thinking about Suga’s lips._

In some far-off chamber of his mind, Daichi realizes that this might look strange to any passersby, that it’s completely unnecessary to prolong this contact, that Suga himself has half raised his arm to push him away but hasn’t.

Suga hasn’t pushed him away.

Worry and embarrassment overtake the captain. Daichi pulls his hand back and stuffs it into his pocket to prevent himself from acting rashly again. He can feel a blush warming his face and he internally curses. _Daichi, you idiot. You’ve definitely creeped him out._

“I’ll have to be more careful next time,” the setter murmurs, not looking at him.

“Oh,” Daichi responds. He trips over his tongue trying to reassure Suga and change the subject. “Y-yeah. It’s not that bad. Just yesterday, I...”

***

“I really wish you’d talk to me, Koushi,” his mom says, sitting on his bedroom floor. It’s evening and the lights are all turned off in the room. Suga lies in bed with his back to her, blankets covering him from head to toe. “I don’t know how to do anything other than talk, and maybe I talk too much. Maybe I put too much faith in words.”

Suga can hear the regret and hesitancy in his mother’s words and he hates himself for making her question these things. At his age, he should be making everything easier for his parents, not more difficult. Lately, he can’t seem to do anything but sleep and get up for school. Lately, he can’t seem to do anything right.

“You can tell me anything, you know. If you’re worried, or stressed, or sad, or in love, or angry. You’ve been so quiet lately. I just want to hear your voice.”

He opens his eyes wide against the blackness. “Mom. You don’t have to worry about me. It’s really just stress. There’s so much to do, so much I don’t know how to do. School is just really hard right now.” He can barely manage that last sentence. Nakamura’s face flashes in his mind. Suga bites his lip, knowing he should leave it at this, knowing that the more he prolongs every interaction, the more likely he is to let something slip, or else confess everything. But with the image of his teacher’s face come the sound of the man’s voice and the feel of his breath on Suga’s skin.

“Mom,” Suga repeats, snaking his hand out from under the blankets. She takes it without question. “You don’t talk too much. I’ve never thought that. I’ve—” Suga breathes and swallows his pride. “I’ve always found your voice comforting. C-could you stay and talk for a little while?”

“Sure, Kou-chan.”

Her voice does comfort him, and her hand reminds him of where he is when the memories threaten to drag him into the past. He doesn’t say anything and he doesn’t emerge from under the blankets. He just listens as she speaks about her work and then her childhood and then his childhood. Suga falls asleep before he even realizes that he’s tired.

In the dream, Nakamura-sensei has him pinned against the chalkboard again. It’s dark in the classroom, moonlight the only thing to illuminate the left side of his teacher’s face. It reflects in the gleam of the man’s dark stare. Sensei says many things, but they’re all unintelligible to Suga. Not a single part of his body moves, not even his eyelids in a blink. He’s so scared. He knows he should attempt an escape or something terrible will happen, but his body refuses to listen to him. So, when Nakamura’s hands start moving down his torso, Suga can only scream soundlessly.

He wakes up flailing and sweating, his heart racing. Alone. Practically jumping out of bed, Suga paces over to his window. He places his hand on the cool pane, feeling the solidness of it and the coldness of it, and tries calm his erratic heart—tries to bring himself back to reality. _It was just a dream. It’s not real_. Something like a mix between a laugh and a sob escapes him then. _This time was a dream. Last time wasn’t._ He flops into his desk chair and lets his head fall back, staring up at the dark shadows stretching across the ceiling and thinking about that afternoon.

Why can’t it all have been a dream?

_Suga refused to walk to the teacher’s desk. His mind shouted ‘danger’ and his legs wouldn’t move. Standing there, alone, in the same room as Nakamura was frightening enough. There was no way that he was going to leave behind what little safety he clung to by walking straight up to the place of his rape. They stood there silently sizing each other up for a few minutes._

_It felt like an hour._

_Then Nakamura-sensei smiled, and walked to Suga who now didn’t know if he was motionless with fear or some misplaced sense of bravery. He just knew that Sensei got so close that Suga could feel the man’s body heat. Nakamura grabbed Suga’s face with one hand—fingernails digging into his cheeks—and leaned down to his ear. He warned to boy not to say anything, relaying an explicit list of everything he’d do to the teen if word got out. It was a long, filthy list._

_So, Suga left the classroom resolved to keep his mouth shut, trying to rub away the feel of Nakamura’s fingers. But Daichi had to go and mention a scratch on his face and Suga scrambled to come up with an excuse, one that had nothing to do with their sensei._

_Then he felt Daichi’s hand on his cheek and he froze. Suga didn’t know if he could handle this so soon after Nakamura’s threats. He could tell Daichi wasn’t thinking—the captain’s eyes weren’t focused, they weren’t looking at_ him _really. If they were, Daichi would have noticed how terrified Suga looked in that moment._ Oh, how scary men are when they aren’t thinking _, Suga realized then. His mind started thinking irrational things, things he knew his friend would never do but he feared anyway._

 _Suga raised his arm, intending to push Daichi away but couldn’t follow through. Just like with Nakamura-sensei, his body lost the strength to do anything. He went cold and still and nothing else. Suga had thought that when put in stressful situations, the body decided between fight or flight…but Suga hadn’t been able to do either of those things so far._ More like play dead.

_When Daichi finally retracted his hand without doing anything more, Suga finally breathed again._

_Yet, there was also a part of him the missed the touch, could still feel the echo of it. Perhaps it was a distraction from Sensei’s touch, an alternative not packed with memories of misery. Suga knew that it scared him to have Daichi so close, but, somehow, he also felt safe with Daichi near._

_He walked to practice a step behind his friend more confused than ever._

***

Relief cascades through him at the fact that he’s essentially made it through the week. All that’s left is five minutes of class and volleyball practice, and then he can go home and sleep under his mound of blankets. Coach Ukai has been making Suga take extra breaks during practice because he says the teen has been looking pale. Suga hates the idle time. He’d rather be doing something, _anything_ , to occupy his mind, and he’d rather be working with his team.

Just before the bell rings, Nakamura-sensei takes to the aisles to pass out the progress reports for the past two weeks. Students are to take them home to be looked over and signed by their parents, and then bring them back to school. Suga scoots to the opposite edge of his seat when Nakamura passes his desk and drops the report onto it.

It’s not until Sensei is back behind his own desk, that the silver-haired boy glances down at his progress report. Everything’s decent, as expected, but one number catches his eye. He instantly knows what it means and he can’t look away. His throat tightens and hand trembles. This says he got a ‘100’ on last Monday’s test. The test he failed.

_“You were such a good fuck. I’ll make sure to change that test score to an A.”_

Is this what it takes to get a 100?

“Wow, a perfect score,” Daichi exudes. He’s standing over Suga’s shoulder, the bell having rung while Suga, so caught up in his own head, was glaring down at his scores. “I told you it wasn’t as bad as you thought it was. Good job.”

Those words feel like a punch to the gut. _Good job_. Suga, trying to subtly catch his breath, folds the paper into fourths and slides it into his front pocket. _Good job_.

This ‘100’ is like a ‘thank you’—no, more like a payment, as if he were some prostitute. That evening, everything that happened… Fingers thrusting into him, that bite on his shoulder, blood and cum dripping down his thighs, that sticky, sweaty taste on his tongue… _Nakamura used me as he pleased and now he’s throwing this grade at me like a wad of cash, like I did him some great service, like I had a choice in the matter, like my virginity, my pride, my peace of mind were all only worth this measly 100 points_. It was humiliating. It was sickening. It was scary. It hurt so bad.

_And this is all I fucking get? Good job._

_That’s all I’m worth? Good job._

The gray-haired setter feels like screaming. Good job.

He stands quickly and his vision blurs momentarily. He pushes against the dizziness.

“Thanks,” Suga forces himself to reply, and the word tastes like spoiled milk.

He leads the way to the gym, hands balled into fists, determined to rid himself of the images in his mind—the memories and that small black ‘100’ that mocks him. To think that he’ll have to show his parents and they’ll likely respond the same way Daichi did. He doesn’t want the grade. He doesn’t want any of this.

 _Why can’t I just tell them?_ The thought floats through his mind but Suga quickly dismisses it. He tells himself that there are so many reasons, not the least of which being Nakamura’s threat. But who would believe him, especially after all this time? They’ll wonder why he didn’t say anything sooner if he really is telling the truth, won’t they? Or if they do believe him, they’ll be disgusted. Someone who’s had those things done to him, who was too weak to stop it, is surely to be avoided. _I’ll just continue like this and eventually things will get easier and I’ll start to forget and no one will have to worry about me anymore_.

Suga’s stomach rumbles, and he’s gotten so good at ignoring it that he barely notices. He pushes himself hard during warm ups, gritting his teeth the entire time, thinking that he doesn’t want that 100, doesn’t need it, is more than it. Instead of distracting himself, he becomes consumed by the fiery emotion tangled up inside him. He lets it rise to the surface and infect his calm façade.

“I’ll show them,” he grumbles to himself, snatching up a volleyball from the floor by the bin. “I don’t need that grade, and I don’t need anyone to tell me ‘good job.’”

“Kageyama!” he calls even though the raven-haired first year is only a few feet away lecturing Hinata about his receives. The first year turns at the sound of his name. Suga grips the volleyball tighter. “Will you toss to me?”

Hinata’s eyes go wide but Kageyama just nods, an unreadable expression on his face. Suga’s only practiced spiking from Noya’s tosses recently, and not very publicly.

Suga misses the first few tosses, finding it strangely difficult to sync up with his kouhai, and the frustration only fuels his fervor because Kageyama is a damn good setter and Suga doesn’t want to miss this opportunity. But then, finally, his approach, jump, and swing all match up perfectly and Suga smacks the ball down into the floor on the other side of the net. He lands unevenly but the sting on his hand and the sound of the ball slamming into the floor… Suga bites back a grin and nods at Kageyama to send another one just like that. Even though his legs tremble slightly, he does it again and again because… because…

It makes him feel powerful.

He hits the ball _over and over_ , completely deaf to his surroundings, body slick with sweat and vision hazy around the edges. He pushes through the discomfort. He pushes through because of that feeling. Power, control—they’re things he lacked with Nakamura-sensei. Pace quickening, Suga can’t keep the scowl from his face.

Suga feels great, until he jumps for another spike and his vision goes dark even though he doesn’t remember closing his eyes. His body slackens. _What? Wai_ —Vaguely, as if it’s happening to someone else, he feels his body falling and hears a thud that may be the volleyball landing beside him or perhaps his own head striking the floor. His eyes open momentarily and he glimpses the court underneath him. Then, unable to keep them open, he slips into unconsciousness.

***

Hearing a sudden thud and a gasp, he whips his head around to see Suga on the floor and Kageyama standing over him frozen. Time slows, each second that Suga doesn’t sit up and reassure the team that he’s fine longer than the last. For a breath, everything is silent for Daichi. Then something inside him snaps, and he can hear again—can comprehend again.

“Suga?” Daichi runs toward the two setters. “Suga!”

Noya beats him there, already asking Kageyama what happened and calling out for coach Ukai. Daichi drops down beside him, joined by the entire team who have varying degrees of shock and worry on their faces. Noya and Daichi carefully flip their silver-haired friend onto his back, Daichi cringing at the limpness of his body and the blood smeared down his face.

“He’s bleeding a lot,” Asahi whimpers through his hands, eyes wide. It seems the blood is coming from his nose and mouth. The large ace paces away from the group.

“He was working himself too hard,” Noya mutters angrily.

“Is he going to be okay?” someone asks.

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama whispers. “I should have realized—”

“It’s not your fault,” Tanaka pipes up.

And everyone’s talking at once, the atmosphere chaotic and strained.

“I’ll get the nurse,” Yamaguchi and Hinata say at the same time, so they both go off running and finally Ukai speaks, telling the team to back up and give Suga some space to breathe. Everyone but Noya and Daichi obeys. Kageyama keeps apologizing and Tanaka keeps trying to reassure him.

Then Ukai’s talking about concussions and head trauma and how it’s bad that Suga is unconscious right now, but Suga won’t wake up. He puts two fingers to the vice captain’s wrist, and his expression just becomes more worried. During this, someone tosses Noya a damp washcloth and he proceeds to wipe the blood from the setter’s face, his usual excited demeanor replaced with a steady, careful hand.

Daichi kneels there, holding Suga’s head still for Noya, heart beating way too fast for being this immobile. He just wants this all to be over. When the nurse arrives, following Hinata and Yamaguchi into the gym, Daichi breathes because here is someone who can actually _help_.

***

At the hospital, wanting to hear the news firsthand, Daichi goes straight to Suga’s parents when they arrive and stands beside them as if he belongs there. Suga’s mom doesn’t hesitate to throw an arm around his shoulders and tell him that she’s sure everything’s going to be fine. Even though she wasn’t there, didn’t see all the blood like he had, there’s something about her tone of voice that makes the captain believe her. She’s a nurse as well, and hurried here still in her scrubs from work at another hospital.

The team is all sitting in the waiting room, occasionally whispering to each other, but surprisingly subdued. Both Takeda-sensei and Coach Ukai are there with them.

When the doctor comes out, he glances first toward Daichi questioningly, but Suga’s mom hugs him closer—which is strange for the teen, but if it means he can stay for the news of his best friend, then he accepts it—and the doctor glances down at his notes.

“Your son doesn’t seem to have sustained a concussion, though we’d like to keep him overnight to make sure of this,” the doctor starts, Daichi ready to sigh in relief before the man continues, “However, since he seems to have fainted before he hit his head, we ran tests and found that your son is anemic. He’s missing quite a bit of sodium, potassium, and magnesium. The extent and severity of this anemia and electrolyte imbalance suggests at least a week of malnourishment.”

“He’s been sick recently with the flu,” Suga’s dad cuts in, perhaps taking offense to the doctor’s use of the word ‘malnourished.’ Even Daich can hear the doctor’s judgement.

“Upon further inspection, we also believe that your son suffers from bulimia.”

“What gave you that idea?” Suga’s mom asks, now sounding just as offended as her husband.

“Bulimia?” Daichi asks, at a complete loss as to what that even is. Whatever it is, Suga’s mom seems to think that it’s not very likely.

“Bulimia is an eating disorder where a person regularly forces themselves to throw up, often after bouts of binge eating,” the doctor delivers in a stoic manner. Daichi opens his mouth to contradict this—because ‘eating disorder’ doesn’t sound like Suga at all—when the doctor continues, this time staring directly into his eyes. “Most cases of bulimia lead to anemia. It can be characterized by dizziness, fainting spells, fatigue and lethargy, dehydration, dry skin, redness around the eyes, anxiety especially concerning eating and food, tooth decay, and scarring on the fingers and knuckles. You’re his friend. You spend a lot of time together at school, I take it. Does any of that sound familiar?”

Daichi feels his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. Of course it sounds familiar. Suga’s been falling asleep in class, been sluggish at practice, hasn’t been eating normally—his hands bled because they were so dry, and those red marks on his knuckles that Daichi had noticed... Still, it all seems unreal. Why would Suga do something like this?

“I don’t understand,” Daichi says truthfully. “Those marks on his hands…”

“They’re from his teeth. From sticking his fingers down his throat to make himself throw up. Those marks are from biting down when that happens.” The doctor flips a page on his notes and pushes up his glasses, Daichi’s response enough of a confirmation for him. “He also sustained a broken nose from his fall. But he’s awake now in room 305 and you all can go in and speak to him if you’d like.”

The doctor leaves them. They all sigh once he’s gone, and then both of Suga’s parents turn to Daichi.

“Sawamura-kun?” Suga’s dad says, and Daichi knows his question is the same as the doctor’s.

Daichi feels oddly isolated without Suga’s mom’s arm around him. He looks down the hallway toward Suga’s room. “He’s been falling asleep in class and dizzy sometimes at practice, so coach makes him sit out. He hasn’t been eating much. He’s been sick a few times at school. And his hands…” Daichi doesn’t know how to finish. Now that he lists it all out, it seems so obvious that something has been wrong. So many things that Suga made excuses for and Daichi just accepted, but he didn’t believe it was anything serious.

“I thought it was just from being sick last week. I didn’t know it—” Daichi starts, but gets cut off by Suga’s mom.

“You couldn’t have known, Daichi-chan. I’m a nurse and I didn’t realize.” Suga’s mom looks so calm and collected as she pats Daichi’s head and her husband’s arm. “It’s something that Koushi was hiding from us. He might be defensive about this. So, we just have to remind him that we care about him and that we’re here to listen and to help no matter what.”

When she smiles, it reminds Daichi of Suga, so kind and honest. It reminds him that Suga hasn’t smiled like that in a while.

The captain resolves himself to help his friend smile again.

***

Daichi enters the room to find Suga awake, sitting up straight, and looking less pale than he had all week. Suga smiles and raises his arm almost in a wave, wires that connect him to the heart monitor and the IV tubes moving with it like the strings connected to a marionette.

“I broke my nose,” he says, pointing and still smiling artificially like he’s proud of the fact.

Daichi doesn’t return the smile. He walks to the hospital bed, resolute. He takes Suga’s hand and peers down at the red marks dotting those white knuckles, which only causes Suga to try to pull it back. Daichi captures Suga’s with a second hand, holding on desperately. He doesn’t let himself feel embarrassed and doesn’t worry about how he looks to Suga’s parents. All he can think about is how he saw these scars on his friend days ago and decided not to question or say anything about it. Even though he knew something wasn’t right, he turned the other way. He runs his thumb along Suga’s knuckles lightly.

Suga’s expression is guarded when Daichi looks up into those familiar brown orbs. “Suga. Please don’t do this anymore.”

Suga’s eyes slowly fill with tears that he immediately attempts to blink away. Breaking Daichi’s gaze, Suga looks to his parents who are standing just inside the doorway. No one speaks. Daichi doesn’t know what Suga sees in their faces, but soon the setter is again forcefully blinking away the water in his eyes, mouth falling into a trembling frown. He stares at his lap silently for a long while. Then, softly:

“Please help me stop.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This took so fucking long to write and so fucking long to edit, but it's done  
> 


	4. Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that season 3 finale, huh? (meanwhile all the manga readers are like 'i totally knew what was gonna happen')  
> -There's references to throwing up and the rape but nothing too explicit

_Bulimia_ is word that Suga rolls around on his tongue and speaks aloud when he’s by himself, testing to see how it sounds. Ever since he first heard the word spoken on the doctor’s lips, he’s been trying to reconcile his actions with the meaning of the word. It’s starting to make sense. _Bulimia_. These things he’s been doing—other people have had this problem, and they’ve stopped.

Suga stares at his hands. He said he wanted to stop, and yeah, puking constantly is exhausting and trying to hide it is even more so. His stomach’s always hurting and so is his throat. He feels guilty. Just, he feels so guilty.

But having everyone know about his problem is a double-edged sword. On one hand, they can help him, support him.  On the other hand, having everyone’s gaze on him all the time is nerve wracking, like if they look closely enough they’ll be able to see the rest of his secrets. Sometimes their attention just makes him feel more sick. Suga’s not sure how long it will take him to get used to it.

When his mother calls him over to the kitchen table before dinner, Suga automatically tenses up.

“Koushi, I’m going to need you to be completely honest with me.”

Suga’s heartrate spikes as he stares at him mom from across the table.  A million things cross his mind in that instant and he can’t slow down his thoughts. _She found out? How did she find out? What exactly does she want to know? Honest? How honest should I be? What will—_

“Calm down. You’re not in trouble,” his mom says, alarmed by his negative reaction. She shuffles a few papers in front of her and uncaps a highlighter.

“What’s that for?” he asks, even though he’s not entirely sure he wants to know.

“Daichi-chan had an idea yesterday, and I formulated a plan,” she says proudly. Suga notes the name, _Daichi-chan_ , and doesn’t know whether to sigh or laugh at the way she speaks like she’s already adopted him. He’d be a good son, Suga starts thinking. He’s smart, caring, talented, loyal, strong. Daichi wouldn’t cause trouble.

Suga doesn’t speak.

“I have a list of foods here and I want you to tell me which ones you feel like you could eat and which ones you can’t,” his mom starts, serious once more. This is her professional, nurse voice. “I need to know what foods you can eat and, most importantly, keep down, even if it’s only a few bites. I’ve separated them into food groups and my hope is that we can find a few from each category that you’ll like, because more than the amount of food you’re eating, I want to make sure you’re having a balanced diet. We’ll work on portion size later.”

“Mom…”

“But you have to be completely honest. I don’t want you forcing yourself to eat something you don’t want to. It’s pointless if it’s going to make you sick.”

 _But everything makes me sick_ , he doesn’t say. So many, many things he doesn’t say. _Eating makes me sick. School makes me sick. Being looked at by strangers makes me sick. Seeing people laugh makes me sick. Seeing people cry makes me sick. The nightmares make me sick. The memories make me sick. The thoughts, my mind, this body that I’m stuck with, makes me sick. Waking up in the morning makes me sick_. Maybe waking up is pointless.

Suga blinks and shepherds his wandering thoughts back to the kitchen and his mother’s expectant and hopeful gaze. _That’s right_ , he thinks. _I asked for help. This is the help. I’ve got to try too._

“Okay,” he says with a nod.

An hour later, when they’re done going through every item on the list, Suga’s mom looks down at her papers despondently, apparently fewer highlighter marks than she had hoped for. There’s only about a dozen scattered throughout the three pages.

Suga hates her worry. It’s not like he’s tried out every single one of those foods, but rather he imagined himself eating it and answered as honestly as he could. He clears his throat.

“Um, maybe there’s a couple more that would be okay—”

“It’s fine, Koushi. We’ll work with this.” His mother stands with her information and smiles a bit too widely to be believable.

***

“Do you really think it will work?” Suga asks. He wants someone to tell him, _‘yes, it absolutely, most certainly will work, and then you’ll be fixed and everything will be okay again.’_

He’s sitting cross-legged on his bed, wrapped in the blanket he’s become more attached to than his baby one, while Daichi sits at Suga’s desk “doing homework.” They’re supposed to be studying together, but he finds it difficult to care about homework at the moment and Daichi says he doesn’t mind working alone.

“Don’t you think it will?” Daichi responds with a smile.

 _That one’s fake too_ , Suga notes. Everyone’s been doing nothing but smiling at him, but they’re all fake and it makes him feel like he’s pushing them to lies. Seeing his friends and family worried hurts, it’s true, but seeing them all with false smiles makes him wary. Honestly, Suga doesn’t know what he wants from them. Smile/no smile. Encouraging words/silence. Sometimes he just doesn’t know what he wants.

So, he says, “Sure. I guess it will.” He thinks about his mother’s elaborate notes and how she looked momentarily disappointed. Sighing, he leans back against the wall.

“Suga, I know I’ve said this before...”

His eyes lock on the back of Daichi’s neck. The captain’s head is bent down low over his papers, and Suga can’t tell if he’s hiding his face because he’s embarrassed or nervous or something else. He’s usually good at reading Daichi, but has been finding it more difficult lately.

“I know I’ve said this, but you really can tell me anything. I won’t judge, I promise. Even if it’s weird or bad or stupid—even if it’s something that doesn’t really make sense to you. I could maybe help you make sense of it…or something.” Daichi’s voice fades into an awkward whisper by the end.

Suddenly, the gray-haired boy is rapidly blinking away tears and thinking, _maybe_. Maybe he could, maybe. Maybe he could tell him. Maybe Daichi could help him makes sense of it. It sounds like it just might work. Suga’s on the verge of speaking, not sure how to articulate any of what’s in his head, when Nakamura’s voice invades his senses. Nakamura’s threats. His teacher’s voice twisting into Suga’s own and reminding him of the humiliating vulnerability of being taken by force. It’s not something Suga, himself, can accept, so how can he expect that of Daichi?

When Suga stands and casts off the blankets, dry-eyed and stoic, Daichi finally looks up from his notebook, a question in his eyes. Suga just waves him off and tells him, “I’ll be right back.” He walks slowly to the bathroom, locks the door behind him, twists both knobs of the sink on to full, and falls to his knees in front of the toilet.

He shakes, feeling an imagined cold right down to his bones. Uncaring about holding back the tears now, Suga lets them stream down his cheeks. There’s this weight, this pressure inside him, that simultaneously begs for release pathetically and blackmails him into submission. _“If you don’t give in, I’ll break you.”_ It feels like his body is screaming at him. _Give in or break. Give in or break._ _Give in or break._ It reaches the point where Suga’s not sure there even is a difference anymore.

_Why do things have to be this way?_

Suga pushes his fingers into his mouth.

***

“ _Suga_ ,” Daichi says for the fourth time.

When the vice-captain finally looks up from the notes he has obviously been faking, his gaze is muddled. He glances around at the half empty classroom, comprehension dawning on his face, drawing Daichi’s attention to the bags underneath his eyes. Suga’s nose is taped, the area bruised purple, but according to the setter, it doesn’t hurt much anymore.

“Want to eat lunch on the roof?” Daichi asks. “Those baseball players who’re always up there have a game today, so it should be deserted.”

“Sure,” Suga says. And he says nothing else the entire way to the roof. It’s a pointed, rebellious silence pregnant with all of Daichi’s unasked questions and Suga’s omitted answers. They’re both waiting for the other to begin speaking first. It’s during this silence that Daichi feels the all too familiar weight of these last couple of weeks pulling down on him once more, transforming each stair into a mountain.

As they climb, Suga’s hand brushes against his, and it all feels so ironic—that in this instant he can be so close to his friend, yet simultaneously feel like he’s halfway across the world—that he lets out a frustrated sigh. He misses Suga’s smile so much.

“What?” Suga asks as he pushes the roof’s door open and steps through. He peers at Daichi out of the corner of his eye, almost looking like his old self. “It’s about me, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Daichi replies hurriedly while the rational part of his brain thinks, _like what exactly?_ Trying to cover up the awkwardness, he attempts a smile. _How can I explain without explaining?_ He curses himself as Suga’s expression goes from stoic to sad. He says guiltily, “It’s nothing really.”

“I’m sorry for causing everyone so much trouble,” Suga says.

“You’re not,” he insists.

“But I am. You, my parents, the team, Coach—everybody. I know I’m causing everybody trouble,” Suga says, sounding determined to get this off his chest, so Daichi just listens for now, ready to launch a counterargument afterwards. “But I’m glad you’re helping me with this. Thank you.”

The wind blows through Suga’s hair, twisting silver locks into his face and making Suga groan and try to tuck it all behind his ear. His wrist is smooth and beautiful contrasting his scarred and ugly hands, but they’re both a part of him so Daichi loves it all. He realizes that even this Suga that doesn’t smile, this Suga that struggles with an eating disorder, is still Sugawara Koushi and that he, Sawamura Daichi, loves him.

He bites back a sad smile.

With Suga’s permission, the rest of the team were told. Hinata and Yamaguchi have taken it upon themselves to be Suga’s personal nurses during practice, making sure the older teen always has water and snacks, and takes rests when he looks tired. They’ll take turns sitting out with Suga when coach makes him so that Suga doesn’t get bored on the bench. Daichi admits that he finds it a little bit heartwarming.

Daichi asks, “Does it help? Not being surrounded by so many people?”

“Yeah,” Suga replies after a pause. “I feel like I can breathe better. It makes it easier.”

Suga’s talking more. He’s eating, albeit slowly and still less than he normally would, but he’s eating. Daichi feels like he’s one step closer to understanding. He feels like he’s made some progress. Hesitantly, he follows up with another question, though he’s not sure how Suga will react. “But if you were alone, you wouldn’t eat?”

A cloud shifts in front of the sun, the temperature change causing both boys to shiver in sync. Suga’s silent for a long time. His hands go still and Daichi curses himself for ruining the positive atmosphere—for letting his curiosity got the better of him.

Sunday, when he had been studying at Suga’s, the setter had gone to the bathroom to throw up just when Daichi had believed that maybe he was getting somewhere. He wasn’t able to prevent his friend from doing what he did. He wondered what he could have said, or perhaps not have said, to avoid that outcome. Suga cried and apologized after but wouldn’t let Daichi comfort him. The dark-haired youth still has absolutely no idea what goes through Suga’s head when he’s hunched over the toilet.

Daichi wants to understand so that he can help better.

When his silver-haired friend speaks again, it has nothing to do with their previous conversation and is so obviously meant to be a change of subject it almost makes Daichi cringe. “How do you feel about tomorrow’s math test?”

***

He rolls that word around on his tongue some more. _Bulimia_. Everyone’s trying so hard to help him with this. So, he takes his laptop from his desk to his bed, opens a new tab, and searches that word. If he can just figure out how to stop himself when he’s not thinking one hundred percent clearly, then that’s a big problem solved. It’s easy to say that he _shouldn’t_ push his finger down his throat or that he _won’t_ right now, but when he’s feeling… _like that_ …it’s hard to think rationally.

Suga reads the first few articles which are all from government or hospital-run websites. They’re so formal and _clinical_ and not helpful that Suga finds himself searching for something more specific. For something that seems more honest. It’s then that he stumbles across a link to a site where people with all kinds of eating disorders can tell their stories. His heartbeat quickens in anticipation as the page loads. _Maybe these people will know_ …

He lies on his bed for two hours reading story after story people have written about their personal struggles with eating. At times, he springs up to his knees in surprise because he can relate. He thinks, _yes, that, I understand that!_ Other times he finds meaning in things he was never able to articulate, yet there they are typed out on the screen for him.

It makes him feel less lonely. There are so many stories. Some are scary, more are hopeful, but what they all seem to tell him is that there’s no shortcut to fixing this. Not a single person has written, “And this is how I stopped puking and changed my outlook on life in just two days.” That’s the part that’s the most disheartening.

Tapping his fingers along his keyboard, Suga tries to comprehend all of the information he’s gathered. Most everyone who wrote a recovery story cited family and friends as an essential part of their battle, and that’s something that he has right now, so that should mean that everything’s going to be okay, right? Eventually.

Yet, so many doubts fly through his brain, fighting his newfound optimism. _What if you keep messing up? What if they lose patience? What if they find out your true secret? There’s no way you can do this after everything that’s happened. What’s the point in trying so hard? You should just give up. Give in._

_Give in. Don’t fight._

_“Stop being so stubborn.”_

Suga types “Stories of rape” into his search bar.

He bites his lip. Breathes. And deletes the text.

Closing his laptop, he rolls over onto his back and stares up at his ceiling. The idea of those stories scares him. He doesn’t think he can bear to read their accounts and have them say the same things the eating disorder ones did: This took me months, a year, _years_ to overcome. He doesn’t want to feel this way for years. He doesn’t want to feel sad and sick and confused anymore.

He doesn’t want to feel afraid every time someone stands a little too close to him. He doesn’t want to constantly watch people’s hands when they wave them around during a conversation. He doesn’t want to cry before bed.

Suga hasn’t been able to sleep. He hasn’t been able to practice volleyball like usual. He hasn’t been able to breathe in Nakamura’s class. He hasn’t been able to hold eye contact for more than two seconds. He hasn’t been able to touch himself.

It’s not something he did often, but now, not being able to at all leaves him frustrated. Every time he’s tried, he’d remember with brutal clarity the feel and pressure of Nakamura’s hand and he’d suddenly be taken back to that moment. At those times, he’d swear he could feel Sensei’s desk beneath him and taste the fear, so potent, in his mouth.

And then he’d feel dirty and ashamed knowing that someone else had held his dick in their hands. But what really scared him, and continues to scare him, is the idea of continuing to masturbate despite all of that. Like, how could he possibly enjoy himself after that? What would it mean if he _could_ get fully hard? Does that mean that a small part of him liked it? That would make him just as disgusting as Nakamura, right? He doesn’t let himself find out. So, each time, he stands under a cold shower with clenched fists.

Suga rolls back onto his stomach and hugs his pillow under his chin, sure to be careful of his nose.

_What if because I’m so moody and scared, I never find somebody to fall in love with? What if I’m alone forever? Or what if I never get past this fear of being close to people and I’m never able to genuinely hug someone, or kiss them, or…be more intimate?_

Suga’s grip tightens.

 _Sex_. It seems like such a dirty, sinister thing now. _Sex_.

“I’ve had sex,” Suga says quietly to the empty room. This, like so many other things, he struggles to make sense of. _I’ve had sex, but I didn’t want to. It wasn’t with someone I loved, or even liked. It didn’t feel good. I was tricked. I was forced to do those things. I’ve had sex, but—_

Suga sits up, clutching his pillow in shaking fingers, his grip viselike. He can feel his entire body tremble and he wishes so desperately to feel his mother’s firm hand in his or hear Daichi’s warm laugh. If only these damn tears would stop.

_I’ve had sex, but—_

“I was raped.”

***

It’s been two weeks.

It’s been two weeks since that day and still he can’t walk into Nakamura-sensei’s classroom without first balling his fists and blanketing his expression in a practiced stoic calmness. It’s been two weeks and he can still feel the echo of his insides aching. He still can taste him. He still finds it hard to breathe at random times—like when he’s walking to practice or switching out his textbooks or going to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

It’s hard to congratulate himself on any progress made, when all that progress is effortlessly undone the moment he switches classrooms after lunch.

Suga can’t help but look around at his classmates. To all of them, it’s just another Thursday, nothing special and without consequence. The extent of his otherness has never stood out to him more than it does while sitting in the middle of Nakamura’s class surrounded by boys and girls who smile idly or doze or take obligatory notes like they do, and have done, every day. He sits on the edge of his seat and breathes carefully. Suga feels especially anxious today.

It’s been two weeks and it still feels like he’s immobile beneath Nakamura-sensei, unmoving beneath the weight of that memory.

When the final bell rings, Suga makes a spur of the moment decision and approaches Daichi. He doesn’t let himself feel guilty as he constructs an easy lie. “I need to miss practice today, Daichi. I forgot my mom’s going to be working a few days straight basically, and she wanted to spend time with me before that.” He feigns disappointment at the situation and Daichi seems to buy it.

“I understand,” the captain says. “We’ll miss you at practice. Tell your mom I said ‘hi’ I guess.”

“Thanks,” Suga replies instantly. He hurries to his locker to drop off a few things, and then leaves school grounds before anyone can call him back or question his story. It’s overcast and breezy, making him regret not bringing his scarf.

He needs to be alone.

The notion of being around people right now feels suffocating. Attending school today has only added to this feeling of suffocation. He feels like he’s going to explode. If he just pedals, and keeps on pedaling, then he might outrun these things he’s trying not to think. _No thinking_. His fingertips start to go numb.

Suga rides in the opposite direction of home. It’s oddly satisfying, the knowledge that no one knows exactly where he is just now. Alone, but not lonely in this instant, he has complete control. He wants to go everywhere and nowhere at the same time—he just wants to keep moving in a direction he hasn’t been before.

The wind that flows through his hair and clothes makes him feel like maybe flight is possible. Maybe Hinata was right. He chuckles and glides across the pavement smoothly, watching the blur of houses whip by in his periphery. Moving further and further away from the familiar, pedaling to solitude, letting the wind drown out his thoughts… It feels like flying.

_Maybe flight is possible for this crow of Karasuno._

***

After heading back to his locker for a forgotten notebook after practice, a buzzing sound makes Daichi do a double take. He opens Suga’s locker to find his phone there amidst his books vibrating from a text message. _He left his phone…Maybe I should take it to him._ Slipping it into his pocket, he runs to catch up with the others.

When Suga’s dad opens the door, and sees Daichi standing there, his gaze grows instantly confused and he glances into the shadows behind the boy. The captain mimics his glance, but doesn’t see anything. _Strange_. Before he can pull the cellphone from his pocket, Suga’s dad steps forward and grabs one of Daichi’s shoulders firmly.

“Where’s Koushi?” he demands.

Now Daichi’s the one confused. He steps out of that man’s grasp. He says, “He went home after school,” even as Suga’s dad shakes his head. “He said he was going home. He said he was going to spend time with his mom.” 

Suga’s dad is still shaking his head. “I’ve been here. He hasn’t come home. Moreover, his mother is not even going to be home tonight. I have to call Koushi. I don’t know—”

“He left his phone at school,” Daichi inserts, raising the phone to eye level.

A bad feeling leaks through his skin and into his bloodstream. _Suga lied about going home today. It’s pretty late. He doesn’t have his phone. Where on earth could he be?_ Daichi is standing on Suga’s porch—he knows this—but suddenly he can’t see or hear his surroundings. He momentarily forgets where he is. _What if Suga passed out again? What if he’s hurt?_

He backs off the porch, almost falling in the process. A sense of urgency overtakes Daichi. “I’m going to look for him!” he calls over his shoulder as he takes off at a jog. He’s too far away to hear what Suga’s dad shouts back.

The path the vice-captain usually takes from school to home was clear, no sign of him or his bike. If Suga lied about going home, then he must have had someplace he wanted to go but couldn’t tell Daichi or his family about. As the captain jogs through the neighborhood, he keeps his eyes open and makes sure to peer into every alleyway and corner. He doesn’t know where to begin.

Suga could be anywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I feel like there's kinda a lot in this chapter, even though it's not the longest  
> -Where is Suga?  
> 


	5. The Castle's Tower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "'Consensual sex' is just sex. To say that implies that there is such a thing as 'nonconsensual sex,' which there isn't. That's rape. That is what it needs to be called. There is only sex or rape. Do not teach people that rape is just another type of sex. They are two very separate events. You wouldn't say 'breathing swimming' and 'non breathing swimming.' You say swimming and drowning."  
> \--socialnetworkhell via tumblr
> 
> -Words are powerful. I found this quote on tumblr that articulated what I was trying to get at toward the very end of the research scene last chapter where Suga starts off by saying "I've had sex, but..." He comes up with all these 'buts' and additions because he can't reconcile what he knows of sex with what actually happened to him because having sex and being raped are two different things. But in the end, he accepts this and is able to say it out loud.
> 
> -That aside, this chapter is pretty short and basically all dialogue  
> (ps, sorry for the long note)

Daichi calls every member of the Karasuno volleyball club, even Yachi, on the off chance they’ve seen their silver-haired setter. No one has. Asahi decides to join in the search and is driving around with Noya, while Saeko is driving Tanaka and Ennoshita. Daich tells the first years to stay put, not wanting anything to happen to them this late at night. They all, save Tsukishima, initially argue vehemently but Daichi holds firm and promises to tell them as soon as he finds anything out.

It’s been almost two hours and the hope of finding Suga is draining from Daichi’s body as quickly as the heat is from his fingers and toes. The shops are all closed or closing. He can’t imagine how cold Suga must be if he’s been outside all this time.

It feels like he’s scoured the entire town.

Just when he wonders if maybe they should have called the police from the start, he spots what looks to be a school bag underneath an empty swing. A spark of hope warms his blood. He sprints across the barely lit park, toward the playground, shouting Suga’s name. Suga has to be here. He’s looked everywhere else. As he draws closer, a bike comes into view leaning against the monkey bars.

“Suga?” There’s movement by the top of the slide, which catches his attention. The structure is meant to be a castle tower, the plastic painted to look like bricks and a metal slide descending from the tower’s “window.” Daichi climbs a winding staircase to reach the small, enclosed area, where he finds a coatless and shivering Suga sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest.

“Aren’t you freezing?” Daichi says incredulously. He whips off his jacket and hands it to his friend before scanning him up and down for any signs of injury. “Here. Take this.”

Silently Suga does, slipping his arms through the sleeves and then wrapping them around his knees again. The tip of his nose and ears are red. So is the area around his eyes.

“Suga, have you been here the entire time?” Daichi asks, sliding down to sit beside him. Something about Suga’s demeanor and motionlessness tells the captain that he should be especially cautious right now. If he thought his friend has been acting strangely these past couple of weeks, Suga feels completely alien in this instance.

“No,” Suga responds with a cough. “I’ve been riding around.”

“Why didn’t you go home?” Daichi feels like he’s steeling himself, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s calling Suga out on his lie earlier. He doesn’t want Suga to get defensive or shut down.

“I was at the train station earlier. Part of me wanted to get on one and just leave.”

Daichi’s eyes go wide as he tries to process this information. Leave to where? Why? The idea of this place without Sugawara Koushi seems incomprehensible to the dark-haired youth. A strong wind breaks through the “castle walls” and Daichi’s thoughts, sending a shiver up his spine and raising goosebumps on his arms.

“Where’s your jacket? Weren’t you cold?”

“It’s covered in puke,” Suga replies, surprisingly frank. “I was good for two days before this. I thought I was doing better, but…I just—I messed up again. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Daichi says softly. “You’re trying. That’s what matters most.”

Suga straightens his legs and the two friends sit in silence for several minutes. Daichi wonders if he should text the team and Suga’s parents that the setter is safe, but somehow it feels like it would break this moment. See, the silence doesn’t feel empty. He’s sure that Suga is just collecting his thoughts. So, he simply waits and doesn’t rush his friend to speak even though he’s dying with anticipation.

“Hey, Daichi.”

Suddenly Suga grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, gripping tightly. Daichi almost jumps in shock. He turns his gaze on Suga, but the setter’s got his eyes closed and is leaning his head back against the plastic wall. Everything about this situation—from Suga’s running away and talk about taking trains to the boy’s uneven breathing and iron grip—brings forth the unease that has been resting in the pits of his stomach these last couple of weeks.

Suga’s hand is freezing.

“I’ve been trying not to, but I’ve been thinking a lot…”

“Yeah?”

“You said I could tell you anything?” Suga says, voice the tiniest bit uneven. “You said that it didn’t matter if it was bad or weird—that you wouldn’t judge?”

“Anything, Suga,” he responds immediately and firmly enough to leave no room for doubt. Daichi’s heart starts racing. Is he finally going to discover what has been bothering his friend?

Still, Suga does question. “Promise?”

“You can tell me _anything_ , Suga, I promise.”

The tower is completely noiseless for several minutes, but it feels longer. It’s as if time has bent around the playground, leaving the boys unaffected by its turning wheel with only the vague impression of moving forward. Even their breathing feels off tempo.

Suga opens his mouth, but takes a while to speak. “It happened two weeks ago.” His voice is so quiet yet strained and his eyes remained closed. His hold tightens like he’s holding on for dear life, causing Daichi to grit his teeth in pain and fight his first instinct to pull away.

Daichi waits.

Then Suga says:

“I was raped.”

The words shatter any quiet or calm Daichi had harbored in his heart. He doesn’t for a second believe Suga could be joking. _Rape_. It feels too heavy and too destructive a word to be spoken aloud in a children’s playground. _Rape_. Suga was raped. _No no no, this can’t be real._

Daichi’s eyes are glued to the silver-haired boy, and even as the hand in his becomes more forceful and painful, even as the wind blows mercilessly, all he can think is, _Suga was raped?_ How can this have happened? How can this have happened to Suga, the kindest person he knows?

Suga’s face scrunches up, seemingly in so much pain, and Daichi feels the echo of it in his heart.

“Suga, I’m here,” Daichi says because he has no idea what to say. He wasn’t expecting Suga’s secret to be of this magnitude. Of course, he wasn’t expecting his best friend to say that he’d been raped. Suga’s eating disorder, the way he wouldn’t let Daichi hug him that time, his quietness—is this the reason for these things?

“I feel so dirty,” Suga confesses.

Daichi squeezes his hand trying to push his point across when he says, “You’re not.”

“I am,” the vice-captain volleys, his voice steadily rising. “I’m disgusting. It’s gross, what he did. You don’t understand what it was like—when he was inside me—just remembering makes me want to puke.”

Everything hurts. Daichi’s chest feels constricted, but maybe that’s a good thing because then the pressure will hold the pieces of his heart that feel like they’re breaking. Who? Who? Who the fuck would do something like this? And yet, the way Suga speaks about himself is the worst, a low blow he isn’t expecting.

“You’re not dirty, Suga. You’re not at all,” Daichi insists. How can he make Suga see this?

The setter finally looks at him, but Suga’s brown eyes are ablaze with anger, a flicker of fire glinting through the sheen of tears. He turns his body completely toward Daichi and practically spits at him when he speaks next.

“I’m not a virgin anymore! He took my first kiss! He took my first time! I’ll never be able to get that back.” His chest rises and falls heavily. “The way that he pushed me down and…and touched me…The way that he did everything else so easily just _feels_ like he _owns_ me.”

Daichi finds it harder to breathe, horrible images painting themselves against the inside of his eyelids whenever he dares to blink. It’s now, however, that his own anger surfaces. He wants to kill whoever touched Suga. He wants to kill the man who made his friend feel this way. He wants to kill him with his own two hands.

“He doesn’t own you, Suga,” he says, trying to stay calm and not let his anger seep through into his voice. There’s so much he wants to say—about Suga being the absolute coolest, smartest, nicest person he knows and how there’s no way that a disgusting man like that could ever own him. No one could ever be on a higher level than Suga, so no one could ever own him. It makes sense in his head, but he can’t make it make sense out loud, so he says, “You belong only to you. No one else can own you.”

Suga hangs his head, silver hair creating a curtain in front of his eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know. I hate this.” Before the captain can formulate any response, Suga mumbles, “Daichi?”

“Yeah?”

A breath.

“I miss the old me.”

Another breath.

When Daichi sees the tears start to fall down the other boy’s face, he is unable to keep his own at bay. He’d wanted to be strong for Suga. Strong. Steady. Helpful. Does crying negate these things? _Tears don’t count as judging, right?_ Still, he searches for the right thing to say.

“I remember everything perfectly,” Suga continues. “It’s all I can think about. I hate it. I just want to forget. And I can’t eat because everything tastes like him.”

The captain swallows his fear and anger and regret and pity and heartache, ignoring the lump in his throat, and just focuses on holding Suga’s hand. Fuck. He wishes there was someone here to tell him what to do. He doesn’t know what to do and it’s so damn scary.

“Daichi. He…” Suga struggles with the words. He folds so much into himself that his forehead nearly touches his thighs where he kneels still clutching desperately to Daichi’s hand. Body shaking, he tries again. “He…”

Daichi hates how much this is hurting him, so he scrambles to say, “You don’t have to tell me. You don’t have to force yourself.”

Suga shakes his head. His voice is so low and so warped with emotion that Daichi has to strain to hear it. “He—he made me use my mouth.” He shudders. “That’s why I can’t eat right, I think.”

 _Oh, no. No_. Daichi didn’t know that he could be made to feel any worse than he already did. He can’t even imagine how Suga must feel. He can’t imagine at all. And to think that the captain has wanted so badly to know what went through Suga’s head when he forced himself to vomit. He had thought that if he knew he’d be able to help, but now he realizes how childish the idea of a quick fix is.

God, Suga has been living with all of this inside him for two weeks?

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you’ve had to go through this and think about all this for the past two weeks by yourself.” This, in no way, conveys just how sorry he feels that he didn’t notice anything sooner.  

Suga doesn’t respond—doesn’t look up.

“Can I hug you?” Daichi asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, you can.”

Daichi pulls him into a hug slowly so as not to scare Suga and to avoid hurting his nose. It’s an awkward position, their teenage bodies too big to move and fit comfortably in the small space. There are other things too that detract from the soothing intent, like the icy cold air and Daichi’s runny nose and Suga’s ragged breathing. But still, Daichi wraps his arms around the boy he loves as if in doing so he can keep their collective tears from falling and their hearts from shattering any more.

“I’m glad you trusted me enough to tell me,” Daichi says in the gentlest voice he can manage between sniffles. “I’m glad you did, because I’m going to tell you something now.”

“What?” His voice sounds exhausted.

Daichi employs the voice he talks to the team in—one that inspires confidence—to say, “None of what happened was your fault. You’re not dirty, you’re not broken, and you’re not weak. You’re still Suga. And you didn’t do anything wrong, so you shouldn’t be blaming yourself at all.”

Suga begins crying in earnest, shaking like he’s choking. “I don’t want to feel this way anymore. I want to go back to being the old me…Please…please…I just want…I want to forget… _please_ …”

Suga’s sobbing feels like being punched repeatedly. Daichi scrunches his eyes shut and pulls Suga closer.

“I’ll be here for you, Suga. I don’t really know what to do, but I’ll be here when you’re sad or confused or sick. I’ll be here. I won’t let anything else happen to you, I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -He finally started to open up!  
> -My favorite line: "Daichi’s chest feels constricted, but maybe that’s a good thing because then the pressure will hold the pieces of his heart that feel like they’re breaking."  
> 


	6. Circumpolar Constellations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -this chapter features unfounded headcanons, background Iwaoi, evidence of my obvious hand fetish, and some shade thrown at a certain reverse harem anime

“Can I stay over at your house this weekend?”

Suga lowers the water bottle from his lips. “Huh?”

“You see,” Daichi says, wiping the sweat from his brow and dropping down onto the bench. “My parents are visiting my aunt in Kanagawa, so I figured we could hang out.”

He does remember Daichi mentioning this before, weeks ago, but he’d been under the impression that it was a family trip. “I thought you were going too. Weren’t you supposed to be looking at a college down there or something?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to go. I never wanted to go.”

Somehow—his stomach twists with those barbed-wire words _burden_ , _useless_ , _bothersome_ —Suga doesn’t believe the captain. _He’s doing this because he doesn’t want me to alone_. Suga’s mind fills with Daichi’s words from last night. _“I’ll be here for you, Suga… I’ll be here. I won’t let anything else happen to you, I promise.”_ Suga blushes just thinking about it and thinking about everything that he had confessed. He stares hard at the water bottle in his hands.

“Look, you don’t have to stay just because of me, Daichi. I’ll be fine,” the setter sighs.

“I want to stay,” Daichi reaffirms, glancing over his shoulder at the team who are starting to grow restless as the break stretches on longer than usual. “Besides, my parents left early since I said I wasn’t going. They’re already gone. The only thing is that they _were_ kind of pissed. So they said that if I was going to stay, they weren’t leaving me money for food—that I had to use my own money I have in savings, you know. So, uh, you’d actually be doing me a huge favor by letting me stay over.” He ends with a small, hopeful smile.

Suga knows what he’s doing, trying to make it seem that by agreeing, Suga is helping Daichi more than the other way around. The petty part of him appreciates the sentiment.

“Okay,” he says and they both stand. “I’ve just got to tell my parents.”

“Your mom said it was okay if you said okay,” Daichi says.

This surprises Suga. He’d been joking before about his mom adopting Daichi, but it seems like they’re a lot closer than he thought. They obviously talk about him when he’s not there. It’s weird, your best friend and mom talking without you, right? It irks him slightly.

The setter shakes his head. As long as Daichi keeps his secret as promised then it doesn’t matter whom he talks to.

“Also, Asahi invited us to go to the planetarium on Sunday. It’s free for students that day and he really wants to go. What do you think?”

He thinks that it’ll be crowded—full of wandering eyes and accidental bumps. He thinks that both eating out or packing a lunch sound like stressful, and therefore bad, ideas. He thinks a planetarium doesn’t sound like that much fun anyways. But then he thinks about how he hasn’t gone out with friends in more than two weeks. He thinks about Asahi inviting him and Daichi suggesting it, even after everything, and he thinks that if he’s going to hang out with anyone at a crowded planetarium, he’d rather it be with his two most trusted friends. He can’t stay wrapped up in his blanket forever.

“Sure,” Suga says, knowing his friend is watching closely, and has been since last night. They didn’t get the chance to talk much after Suga made Daichi promise to keep everything he’d said a secret because Asahi and Noya showed up then. They all piled into the car, Suga told a lie about why he’d been out there, Daichi called everyone else, and then they took the vice-captain home.

“Really?” Daichi asks hopefully. “We don’t have to.”

 _We._ The word doesn’t slip past the gray-haired boy. Relief battles the guilt that he feels at Daichi’s inclusion of himself when it comes to their plans for the weekend. Because of what happened, the dark-haired captain doesn’t want to let Suga feel lonely. Or perhaps he wants to question Suga further.

Suga doesn’t want his friend to dig too deeply into his story because there are parts he left out and parts he doesn’t want to say. Like when, how, who, where. It’s easier this way. He can avoid angering Nakamura-sensei.

And he’s thinking about _him_ again—thinking about the threats whispered in a silky voice. Suga doesn’t want to be consumed by thoughts of him. Damn it, he doesn’t want to. _I’m going on Sunday_ , he decides determinedly. _I’m going on Sunday and I’m not going to think about him._

_I’m going to have fun._

_I’m going._

“Yeah,” Suga replies with a smile. “It sounds like fun.”

Daichi smiles back, relief washing over his features. “Let’s get back to practice then.”

Before he can call out to the others, Suga interrupts him with a light elbow. “Don’t forget to apologize to your parents. This trip was planned a long time ago and I’m sure it was hard for them when you canceled last minute.”

Suga doesn’t know what possesses him to say this, but as soon as it’s out of his mouth, he’s aware of how it sounds—chiding Daichi for staying behind when it’s all really for Suga’s sake. The setter begins to prepare an apology in fact, but Daichi’s smile widens into an unexpected grin. Suga is taken aback. He was sure he overstepped his bounds.

“Go on and lecture him some more,” Tanaka laughs, coming up behind the pair, baring his own rakish grin. “We’ve missed your motherly ways, Suga-san. There was no one to keep Daichi in line.”

“Oh,” is all Suga manages while Daichi responds to the second year with a look that sings, _I’m imagining drills and laps to punish you with right now._

“Okay.” Daichi claps his hands together loudly. “Let’s get back to it.”

Morning practice flies by after that.

It’s strange, having someone know, having one person around whom Suga doesn’t have to pretend to be completely fine. He can let his guard down for a second and just breathe. It’s not something he ever truly believed a possibility before today. Maybe there’s truth in his mother’s belief that talking can stem the hurt just as surely as band-aids can stem blood from a cut, because he feels different after his talk with Daichi last night.

Everything is going smoothly and the band-aid holds all morning. Then, at lunchtime, he hears Nakamura’s name on the lips of a pair of students sitting close to him.

“Nakamura-sensei has really been piling on the homework lately, hasn’t he?”

“It’s so brutal. I’m _dying_.”

“Me too! I hear he’s in a bad mood since his wife left him. They’d barely been together three years.”

“So, he’s taking it out on us? Damn. We need to find Nakamura a new wife so he’ll go back to the old Sensei.”

“Or at least a good lay.”

“Ha, would you be willing to take one for the team?”

“No way! No way!”

The conversation devolves into giggles and whispers, Suga setting down his chopsticks and leaning back in his chair. He’d rather he heard nothing. He doesn’t want to know anything about his teacher’s personal life or consider any petty excuses Nakamura could have but never bothered with. He starts to feel sick at the way these students fret over their homework and the way they speak so nonchalantly about sleeping with a teacher.

 _You don’t know anything_ , he wants to shout at them.

Just as he stands, fists clenched but resolve wavering, Daichi reaches their desks, carrying drinks bought from the vending machine. The captain hands over a bottle of water.

“Hey, Daichi,” Suga says. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Sure.”

***

When Daichi opens his eyes that night, he chokes on his initial panic at not being in his own bedroom. Then his brain catches up and he realizes he’s in Suga’s room. The panic doesn’t completely dissipate as he soon notices that Suga’s not in bed. Where? Daichi barely turns his head and catches sight of the silver-haired boy sitting on his desk, a hand pressed against the dark windowpane. The captain can’t decide whether the atmosphere here tastes melancholy or hopeful. Suga seems so far away, and he’s not sure if that’s necessarily a bad thing, given the circumstances.

“Suga?” Daichi sits up, wiping the remnants of drool from his chin. It must be cloudy out because there’s barely any moonlight. He blinks, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness, the other boy’s silhouette the most distinct thing he can make out.

Suga doesn’t seem surprised to hear Daichi in the slightest, and his voice is completely even when he says, “It’s weird.” He turns but the captain still can’t see his face clearly.

“What is?” Daichi asks nervously.

“You, knowing. I thought someone finding out would be the worst thing ever. But it’s not,” Suga replies. Walking over to his bed, he throws himself down and sighs. There’s a silence in which Daichi doesn’t know how to respond, or even if he should. “It’s just weird.”

“Do you—?”

“Daichi,” Suga says while looking up at the ceiling, hands clasped together on top of the blankets. “Let’s have fun this weekend.”

What is this resolve? He heard it this morning, and again at afternoon practice, and now. Is happiness something you can really decide to feel? Daichi thinks maybe happiness is something they’ve all taken for granted until now. He supposes it doesn’t always come easy.

***

They spend Saturday inside, watching television and playing card games. They’ve just finished binge watching the first season of a shitty harem anime when Suga looks away from the TV to analyze the cards in his hands and discard pile between where he and Daichi are sprawled out on their stomachs. He bites his lip and picks up from the draw pile.

“I think I lost a few brain cells from that,” Daichi says.

“I think it’s only fair that we watch a reverse harem now.”

Daichi suddenly laughs and Suga glances up from where he’s been rearranging his cards to see Daichi shake out his shoulders and lay all of his cards out in front of him proudly, leaving one to discard. “Rummy!” he announces. “What’s that, now? Four to two?”

Pretending to be disappointed, despite being glad for the company, Suga says, “Stop kicking your legs like that, Daichi. You’re way too excited over one game.”

“Let’s have a rematch then,” Daichi says confidently. “I’ll make it one more win.” And he goes and does that eye-crinkling smile that both hurts and warms Suga’s heart. He sits up and collects the cards while bobbing his head to a song that must be stuck there, fingers deftly shuffling the deck, cards sliding perfectly into place.

None of the cards go flying, which is what would happen if Suga tried. A part of the vice-captain admires the control that Daichi wields over them while also treating them gently. _Daichi’s_ _hands that can hit powerful spike and serves. Hands that sting red when slapped hard with double high fives. Hands that slide effortlessly through their owner’s dark hair. Hands that withstood my iron grip in that playground tower yet also had touched my face so softly that day in the hallway._

_Daichi’s hands are kind of beautiful._

“Want me to teach you?” Daichi asks, yanking Suga out of his reverie and pulling his gaze upwards. He’d been staring. A blush rises to the surface of his face.

“Yeah,” Suga responds quickly. _What are you doing? Why are you thinking about these things right now? Do you have a hand fetish or something, Koushi?_ “I’m no good at shuffling.”

So, the dark-haired captain spends a good ten minutes trying to teach Suga how to shuffle, but Suga just can’t manage it. The setter laughs it off, they put on an equally ridiculous reverse harem, and end up playing Spades and then Poker.

“This is so bad,” Suga says after the fourth episode.

“I still can’t get over the fact that she fell for that twins excuse.”

“Well,” Suga starts, prepared to argue just for argument’s sake, when he decides it’s too much effort. “Well, yeah, it was kind of dumb. At least the music’s good.”

He feels himself growing tired—not physically, but mentally—and all he wants is to hold desperately onto this easygoing feeling. Happy. Comfortable. Light. Content. They’re such great feelings. _I want to stay here_ , he thinks resolutely. _I want to stay in this moment, with this person, with these feelings._

_If every tomorrow is like this, I think maybe I can stop fearing that day._

_I think maybe I can find myself again, if every tomorrow is like this._

“Koushi, Daichi,” Suga’s mom calls, appearing at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m in the mood to bake. Do you want cookies or cake?”

“Can we help?” Suga pipes up, pretending to not notice his mother’s surprised look.

_I’ll do anything to hold onto this feeling._

So, after washing hands and two minutes of Daichi trying to explain that he has no cooking skills whatsoever and would be better suited to just watch, both teens find themselves leaning against the middle counter wearing obnoxiously frilly aprons. They agree to make cookies _and_ cupcakes.

“I’m going to teach you. It’s going to be fine.” Suga pushes a bowl toward Daichi and his own mixing spoon. “Will you get two eggs from the fridge?”

“I forgot, you’re a really good cook, aren’t you?” Daichi says.

Since he was fourteen, he’s been making his parents breakfast every morning. Remembering the peaceful air of morning, the sun just barely a soft glow of an idea in the sky, coaxes a smile out of Suga. He shrugs, trying not to think about why he hasn’t touched a pot or skillet in weeks.

“Everyone in this house cooks,” he says.

His mother tsks. “He’s so humble. He’s really a wonderful cook.”

Daichi does everything he’s told. Still, he manages to lose an eggshell in his flour, spill the said flour while trying to locate it, and drop his spoon a total of three times, sighing after each incident and shaking his head.

Suga laughs and after the third time the wooden spoon clatters to the floor, asks, “Aren’t you supposed to be skilled at receiving?”

“Volleyballs and spoons are completely different.”

“Well, you didn’t have to spill all over the place,” Suga sighs. He pulls aside his apron slightly to show them the flour that has spread down the side of his pants leg. “Look at this.”

“Sorry, Suga,” Daichi says, biting back his laughter.

The gray-haired setter pulls his apron off. “You sound like Yamaguchi,” he says before muttering, “I’m going to change.”

Upstairs in his room, he glimpses his reflection in a small mirror sitting atop his dresser. Suga pauses. The mirror is something he’s had face down since the day after, his own reflection something he couldn’t really bear to be confronted with daily. Daichi must have touched it last night or this morning. The mirror catches his attention, though, not because it is standing upright again, but because it reflects a genuine smile on Suga’s face. A smile completely his own and not an act put on for anyone else. When he was alone. When he wasn’t thinking about it.

_Hmm._

When Suga reenters the kitchen his mother, father, and Daichi have their backs to him, all standing close. What are they doing over by the sink? It dawns on him and Suga strides to the counter and crosses his arms in exasperation.

“Mom! You’re not supposed to eating the raw dough!” Suga chides. “Dad! Daichi! I leave you guys for two seconds…”

“I wasn’t eating anything, Koushi,” his mom says unconvincingly, turning around and wiping her hands on her apron.

“Neither was I,” Daichi says after he swallows.

“Nope,” his dad adds in.

_I’ll do anything to hold onto this feeling._

***

“Wow, this really is cool, Asahi,” Daichi exclaims.

“Did you agree to come expecting it’d be boring?” Asahi asks, grabbing the back of his neck in embarrassment. His expression instantly morphs into one of excitement as the line they’re waiting in moves forward. “Just you wait. This next room is great.”

Just as expected, there are a lot of people here, from small children with their parents to students their age. So far, when he’s busy looking at whatever exhibit, he’s fine. Suga’s thoughts don’t wander and he’s able to enjoy himself. But in transitional times like these, when their group is waiting in line for the next exhibit or being shepherded from one room to another, the lights seem to blaze above him and Suga becomes hyperaware of his body and especially his skin. It’s like there’s a spotlight shining directly at him and his outer layer is withering underneath the intensity.

He knows it’s irrational. He knows there’s no danger here. He knows no one’s watching him and therefore breathing shouldn’t be any more difficult than normal. He knows this.

Yet, any calm feeling can be abruptly and wholly overshadowed by anxiety.

_I’ll do anything to hold onto that feeling of contentment from before._

Standing in that line under the lights of the hallway, waiting to enter into the next room, Suga realizes that he has to fight tooth and nail to achieve any happiness. He must fight against these thoughts in his head that say things like “give up,” “this is all you are,” “trying is pointless,” “you don’t deserve to be happy.” It’s really hard convincing himself that all of these things are false, but he has no other choice than to give it his best shot.

Suga stops himself from looking around and instead focuses on his friends. He asks, in genuine curiosity, “How many times have you been here?”

“I used to come here all the time with my dad. I don’t know why I stopped.” Asahi’s eyes glaze over with nostalgia as an idle smile plays across his face. “There’s always something I learn that I missed the time before.”

“So, you know all about constellations and stuff?”

Asahi releases a self-deprecating laugh. “Not really that much in depth. Just the basics, you know?”

“Like what?” Daichi prods.

“Let’s see,” the ace says, brows scrunching up in thought. “Japan is in the Northern Hemisphere, which makes a difference in what constellations are visible. Also, it being fall affects it too. So, Andromeda, Aquarius, Capricornus, Pegasus, as well as circumpolar ones like Cassieopeia, Perseus, Ursa Major, Ursa Minor are visible. Some others too.”

Suga mutters, “Just the basics?” at the same time Daichi asks, “Circumpolar?”.

“Ah, yeah,” Asahi mumbles. “Circumpolar constellations never rise or set, so they’re visible year-round. That’s not to say the others can’t be seen, it’s just…nevermind.”

The doors open and finally they’re let into a dim, half-circle room with a dome-shaped ceiling. The front of the room sinks in a shallow decline. The chairs are like those of a movie theater, but the rows are curved like the room and arranged in rings facing the walls. People start filling up the bottom rows as they file in from the top. Suga follows close behind Daichi, letting his gaze wander up to the ceiling, unable to judge just how high it is.

“Is this going to be a movie?” Daichi asks, falling into the seat beside Asahi, leaving the aisle seat for Suga.

“Kind of,” Asahi says. “You’ll see.”

There are only two small doors, on either side of the top row. One is the door everyone came through and the other is perhaps one used by workers. As the seats begin filling, the level of chatter in the room rises, though it’s all unintelligible to Suga. He starts rubbing his fists against his thighs, brown eyes searching for nothing really, ears full of muted whispering. _More waiting. If it would just start already._

Suga feels a hand on his. He freezes initially and so does Daichi, but then he breathes and opens up his fist for Daichi to hold. Daichi’s warm fingers wrap around Suga’s lightly. When the captain glances over, his expression asks, _Are you okay?_

Suga nods.

A friend holding another friend’s hand to quell the anxiety brewing in his chest. Or, a hopeful someone trying to comfort the boy he loves. Suga can feel the weight of Daichi’s hope in his hand. He’s known about his friend’s romantic feelings for almost a year now, but the dark-haired boy never spoke them aloud, so Suga pretended not to notice. He secretly dreaded the day when Daichi would build up the courage to confess because the gray-haired setter had no idea what he felt in return. He used to think a lot about how he’d respond if confessed to. He once again contemplates the scenario.

After everything that’s happened, the idea of ‘him and Daichi’ has become even more confusing to consider. And maybe it’s selfish of him—holding Daichi’s hand now, spending so much time together this weekend, letting the captain hold him while he cried in that playground, all the while knowing how Daichi feels. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing this. Because—

He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know, _he doesn’t know_ how he feels. All he knows is Daichi deserves someone…better.

It’s true, having Daichi close calms his breathing. It helps him focus on the real world instead of bad memories. And Daichi does this all without realizing—this steadfast, brown-eyed wing spiker whom Suga’s known since First Year, yet sometimes it feels more like forever.

But Daichi deserves someone untainted.

_I’m thinking stupid things again. Stop. Besides—_

The room plunges into pitch blackness, evoking a couple of quickly hushed cries from children. There are a few moments of breathless silence. And then stars spill out all around them. On the walls, on the ceiling, some slightly different colors and slightly different intensities, the tiny lights dazzling against the previous darkness.

It’s like someone scoured the night sky for these elusive diamonds and locked them up in this dome-shaped room. It’s so realistic, and so beautiful. Suga’s eyes are as round as dinner plates. He leans forward to catch a glimpse of Daichi’s and Asahi’s reactions just as the narrator begins to speak, detailing the early stages of Earth’s life.

The visuals zoom in and out and twist around as the narration continues, making it feel like they’re flying through the sky. This, at once, evokes a feeling of incredible minuteness underneath the vast blanket of thousands of stars, yet also one of immense power. Suga’s grip tightens and loosens with each new constellation that is featured, many of them those that Asahi had mentioned. He feels like a little kid, sitting at the edge of his seat.

It’s so beautiful. Suga’s struck with the desire to gaze up at the real stars.

***

“Thanks for inviting us, Asahi,” Daichi says as they follow the throng through the halls of the planetarium. “That was really cool.”

Suga feels lighter heading out than he did walking in. He doesn’t really know why it’s easier to walk and breathe and think. “I had fun. Thanks, Asahi, Daichi.”

“Suga,” Asahi says quietly, and then both he and Daichi are staring at the setter with a mixture of surprise and relief. Suga feels himself begin to blush under their gaze, so he raises his hands to wave them off, not knowing what to say. _Jeez_.

One of the walls in the entrance hall catches his eye. The entire thing, floor to ceiling, is a mural painted with the same stars they’ve just witnessed in the movie room. It’s massive and spectacular and Suga doesn’t know how he failed to notice it on his way in this morning. Weaving through the crowd, he makes a beeline for it.

“Guys,” he calls over his shoulder as his friends hurry to follow. “Let’s take a picture. You have a good camera on your phone, right, Daichi?”

They ask a passerby to take a photo of them. Other people are also taking pictures in front of the mural, so Suga doesn’t feel out of place, even if they’re mostly girls. After the stranger passes Daichi’s phone back, they all huddle around the screen to see the result. Daichi’s grinning with his arms thrown over Asahi’s and Suga’s shoulders. Asahi’s build and facial hair make him look intimidating, the camera apparently unable to capture how wrong that assumption is. Suga’s making a peace sign, eyes brighter than he remembers seeing them lately. His looks at himself a second longer.  

“I look terrible.” His face is so thin and his hair’s a mess.

“You look fine.”

Asahi takes on a serious tone. “Guys, this is our last year. We only have a few more months to—”

“Stop right there,” Daichi interjects. “Don’t get all nostalgic. It’s not over yet!”

“I know. I know—I mean, Suga started it with the picture.”

“Suga didn’t start talking about how it’s our last year and everything’s coming to an end and how we only have a few months to spend together.”

“I didn’t even get to that part yet,” Asahi says, completely on the defense.

The setter glances away from their argument and notices familiar brown hair in the midst of the crowd unable to immediately recall who it is until they turn to their slightly shorter, dark-haired companion and the boy’s profile comes into view. The Seijoh captain’s expression is animated as he speaks to his friend, leaning in close enough to make Suga’s curious gaze linger.

A dark blush spreads across the spiker’s face as he scowls, and it’s then that Suga sees their interlaced fingers. _Are they dating then?_ Somehow it doesn’t seem that farfetched to the vice-captain. _But holding hands doesn’t necessarily mean anything_. He and Daichi had just been holding hands for just shy of forty-five minutes and they’re not dating. But Oikawa and Iwaizumi have always seemed so close.

Oikawa rolls his eyes, the muddy brown orbs landing on Suga, recognition lighting them. His expression completely reconstructs itself into something more guarded despite the wide smile stretching across his face. Suga lifts a hand in a half-hearted wave, noticing how swiftly Oikawa drops Iwaizumi’s.

Then Seijoh’s captain is cutting his way through the mass of people, Iwaizumi a step behind.

“Karasuno’s Third Years,” Oikawa says brightly. “It’s been a while.”

“Ah, hi,” Daichi says while Suga and Asahi nod pleasantly. “It’s unexpected, running into you here.”

“Well, Iwa-chan, here, doesn’t believe in aliens,” Oikawa says, voice scandalized as if saying Iwaizumi doesn’t believe in something as simple as air. Suga can’t tell how serious he’s being. “So, I thought I’d bring him here to prove my point.”

“Oh,” Suga says when no one else responds.

The Seijoh ace hits Oikawa in the back of the head. “They don’t want to hear about your alien theories. Nobody does.”

“Ow. Well then, what about volleyball?” the brown-haired setter asks, expression sliding into something overconfident and smug. “I’ve been working on my jump serve. Once it’s polished, I don’t think even you can receive it, Captain.”

_Cocky as always. Oikawa is extremely skilled though, so if he says he’s been improving his serve even further, then it can only be considered bad news for Karasuno. We can barely receive it as is. But Daichi is also highly skilled._

“Oikawa, don’t be an ass,” Iwaizumi scolds.

“I’ll guess we’ll have to see,” Daichi replies immediately, squaring his shoulders. “I look forward to it.”

Iwaizumi groans as Oikawa opens his mouth, rendering the setter’s response unintelligible. The spiker says, “We’re going to be late for the _thing_ , Oikawa. We should get going.” He shoots an apologetic look toward the Karasuno players.

“It was nice speaking with you. Tell Tobio-chan that I—”

“We’re going, Shittykawa,” Iwaizumi growls, forcibly turning Oikawa in the opposite direction, and calling over his shoulder, “It was nice seeing you.”

They all seem to hold their breath until they see the pair from Aoba Johsai exit through the building’s front doors. Then they head in the same direction.

“That was certainly interesting,” Asahi says.

Suga nods and Daichi grunts in agreement.

“Do you guys want to come over to watch ‘King of Basketball’?” Suga asks. “We can toss around a volleyball until it’s time.”

***

That night, Suga sits at his window again, staring out at the stars.

Circumpolar constellations never rise or set; therefore, they’re visible year-round. They’re always there in the night sky when you look up, shining despite time, despite distance, and despite the plight of some random person on Earth. Some stars are even dead, yet their light still reaches out, unaware or uncaring that they’ve been snuffed out.

Suga finds that incredibly admirable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Because I'm a sadist and a masochist, I will start to tear apart the progress Suga has made in the next chapter  
> -I just like to ramble in these parts, so, 'Hi, it's been a while.'


	7. Murphy's Law

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -ever have one of those days  
> *trigger warnings for panic attacks;also in the dream there's a short rape scene*

In the dream, the taste of blood is prominent. A hand covers his mouth, preventing him from spitting it out as well as stopping any sound from escaping. Another hand, spread out flat on his back, holds him down until his face is squished against a familiar desk in a familiar classroom. The sudden penetration forces tears from his scrunched eyes. His teacher’s pace only encourages the screams building in his throat. He can’t make a sound though.

Just as he thinks this, he hears other noises: chairs scraping back, voices, papers ruffling, zippers drawn. He opens his eyes to see the classroom bright and full of students, his team, and his parents. Fear grips him tighter. He doesn’t want them to see him like this. Why are there so many people here? And why don’t they help him? A few glance his way, but quickly go back to their conversations.

_In, out. In, out. In, out._

The weight of that man, the force of that man, the smell of that man—it all makes his stomach revolt.

Just when he’s sure he can’t take anymore, when he thinks he’s going to suffocate, he realizes that the hand covering his mouth is his own.

And then he’s on a beach, fully clothed and soaking wet. The tide threatens to drag him back to the depths.

_In, out. In, out. In, out._

Hair plastered to his face, he crawls toward dryer sand harboring a sick feeling in his chest and unsure as to why he feels so uneasy. The feeling blossoms into dread when he stands, stumbles, and discovers the scratch marks cutting through the skin on his forearms, dripping blood into the lines on his hands. Coughing, he peers around at his quiet surroundings, spying a handful of people in the distance, too far away to call out to. But there’s a house on a hill and it fills him with a momentary hope.

For some reason, the urge to glance back toward the ocean seizes him and his breath leaves him at the sight of bodies littering the beach where he climbed out of the water. They’re all face up and pale, eyes wide and sky-bound. When he draws closer, he sees the face of his mother, his father, Daichi, Asahi, Hinata and the rest of the team, even Ukai-san and Takeda-sensei. He kneels between the corpses of his father and Daichi. Somehow only he, himself, survived.

Guilt clogs up his throat, rising and rising, until it turns to salt water and blood. The taste of that metallic liquid quickly overpowers the seawater. _Dead. They’re dead. Mom, Dad_ … The weight of his isolation hits and he responds with a throat-tearing scream.

Suga wakes from the nightmare with blankets twisted around his limbs and sweat and tears coating his face. The contrasting quiet of the real world almost gives him whiplash. He still tastes blood in his mouth and realizes that he must have bitten his tongue in his sleep.

Mind still reeling from the dream and fear still present in the pit of his stomach, the gray-haired teen rips the blankets away and stumbles for his door, desperate. _Bathroom, bathroom, bathroom_. His stomach trembles in anticipation.

But he can’t get there in time. His stupid legs aren’t fast enough. They shake and buckle, and then he’s on the ground in the hallway. His parents aren’t here. He’s alone. Alone. He’s always alone, isn’t he? In the first half of the dream, he wasn’t alone, but it felt that way.

Suga sucks in a ragged breath. His mind panics, wondering why he can’t get air in. He can’t even breathe right. He tries again, and it’s even worse than the first time—like he’s breathing through a thin straw, and it’s not enough.

Tears and snot drip down his face as he claws at his neck, his chest, trying to release this pressure. Having company this weekend felt great, but now… He feels like he’s on the verge of puking, but he can’t bring himself to. He wants to breathe, but can’t. He wants to… He wants to…

He curls up into a ball.

Fuck.

He wants this to be over. He wants someone here. He wants to be fixed.

It’s a while before he realizes he can breathe normally again. Suga drifts back to sleep where he is and wakes more than an hour later, confused. He tries to orient himself.

_It’s Monday. Both of my parents are working. I have school. I need to get to school._

He stands, body weak and protesting. Dragging his feet, he gets himself to the bathroom and into the shower. _I’ve felt worse. I’ve gone through worse. I have to go to school._ He washes the sweat from his skin and stands motionless under the showerhead until the warm water quells his shaking.

***

He missed a test first period, and the only time he’s able to make it up is Thursday after school. On top of that, because of his tardiness, he’s assigned cleaning duty every day this week. The universe must be laughing at him right now.

Oh, how the universe loves to laugh.

The second Suga’s name leaves Nakamura-sensei’s lips, his body goes cold. Everyone focuses on him and when he looks up to the front of the classroom and locks eyes with Nakamura, he doesn’t expect his teacher’s gaze to be so flat. In his nightmares and in his memories (is there a difference?), that gaze is either the dagger-sharp glare of a comic book villain or else foggy with lust. It’s never this devoid of emotion.

“Sugawara-kun, come solve this equation for the class.”

Suga stares, silently pleading for an exemption from this one thing. When Nakamura’s eyes narrow, malice seeping in, Suga wonders why he ever thought that things would go any differently. When has Nakamura shown him any kindness?

Before he can fully prepare, Suga is in front of the chalkboard. _Deep breath._ He doesn’t flinch when the chalk is dropped into his hand. _Deep breath._ Nakamura-sensei is standing only a foot away, wearing a suit and a patient smile, arms crossed, hair tied back.

The gray-haired teen had practically bounded up to this desk, this spot that day. _No, it was more over there, closer to where_ he’s _standing._ Suga had been so relieved and appreciative to be able to earn extra credit. He hadn’t thought… Mouth dry, he stares at the equation without comprehending until whispers and giggles break the silence.

_Concentrate. Take the derivative. Don’t pay attention to any of them. Ignore the smell of him._

He can feel Nakamura’s eyes on him. His heart races. It’s like being violated again, this time in front of everybody. Just like in his nightmare.

 _Concentrate. Substitute the answer in for Y prime and…_ Suga grits his teeth and steals a quick peek at his teacher. _Warm. Attentive. Supportive._ That’s the aura the man is currently projecting—everything a teacher should be—but Suga knows there’s a disgusting, sadistic person underneath. After all, why else assign Suga, of all people, this difficult, intricate, and _long_ equation to solve?

When he’s finally finished, he grips the chalk in his fist ready for the dismissal that never comes. Instead, he feels two hands drop onto his shoulders. He wants to sink into the floor. _Of course, he has something more in mind. This… I haven’t been touched by him in almost two weeks, yet I could happily go a lifetime without this._

_I hate you._

“Don’t go anywhere just yet, Sugawara-kun,” Nakamura says. “To make this more of a learning experience, why don’t we have someone explain each of Sugawara’s steps? Sawamura-kun, how about you explain?”

Suga’s eyes snap to Daichi, the dark-haired boy rising from his seat. _This isn’t a coincidence,_ Suga thinks while trying to keep a straight face. _He knows we’re friends._ Nakamura’s grip tightens, almost possessively. _He knows we’re teammates._ Daichi begins speaking and Suga zones out, not even trying to hide it. _He’s taunting me._ _I can’t break away from him without causing a scene and raising questions I don’t want to answer. Daichi’s right there and I can’t call for help this time. Or…_

 _Could he be taunting Daichi? Without Daichi even knowing what’s going on?_ Picking a fight with someone who doesn’t even know they’re being targeted sounds like something Nakamura-sensei would do.

It’s an excruciatingly long time before the captain finishes speaking and Suga’s finally allowed back to his seat. He doesn’t let his guard down—not until after the bell rings, until he has his stuff packed up and is beyond the threshold of the classroom. Suga sets a fast pace as he strides through the hall.

_Far away. I have to get far away. I don’t want him to call me back. I won’t go back to that room, not today. I hate him so much._

_I hate him!_

After jogging down the stairs, he bursts through the doors and out into the fresh air. But it’s not enough to simply be outside. He’s still surrounded by so many people. There’s a place around the north side of the school that is usually deserted because the odor of the dumpsters permeates through the air.

 _It’s not like the nightmare._ Suga repeats it over and over, holding his head as if that will keep his thoughts in order. _It’s not like the nightmare._ _It’s not like that. It’s not._ Before he knows it, he’s speaking out loud, mumbling to himself, “It’s not. It’s not. It’s not. It’s not...”

A sudden weight on his shoulder makes Suga jump out of his skin. His heartrate spikes and his mind grows fuzzy momentarily. When he’s able to think again, hands shaky and insides cold and aching from the remnants of fear, he realizes that Daichi is standing in front of him, speaking, but the sound is not registering with him.

Suga takes a step back, face sinking into a scowl. The setter’s hand stings, and judging by Daichi’s shocked expression and hands raised in surrender, Suga must have hit him reflexively. He doesn’t remember lashing out, but after a closer look, Daichi’s left cheek is red. Catching his breath, he curses Daichi, Nakamura, everyone.

“Don’t touch me,” Suga hisses _. No, wait. I should be apologizing I think_. His brain still feels murky. “I don’t…”

“I’m sorry, Suga,” Daichi says, stricken.

The second half of the dream starts to replay itself in Suga’s mind’s eye, a part that he didn’t remember upon waking. _He was in a small boat on the ocean with his family and Daichi. But then the waves gradually became larger and larger. The boat capsized._

“Just leave me alone already.”

The captain shakes his head resolutely, saying, “I won’t right now. You’re obviously not okay. You’re _shaking_.”

_His mouth filled with water and panic strung his muscles tight. He flailed against the waves even as the current dragged him further and further out, and down. He sank. And then the other occupants of the boat were there, struggling similarly. He heard his mother yell for him. He heard Daichi say his name._

 “None of this is your problem, so why don’t you give it up?” Suga sighs, scrunching his nose against the smell of trash. He feels on edge.

“I promised I would be there for you when you’re sad or sick, no matter what.”

_And he saw the boat floating upright a few yards away. But his clothes weighed him down, pulling him under. Daichi reached under the surface to pull him up and Suga clung to him. No. Wait. That wasn’t what happened._

_Suga grabbed that outstretched hand and pushed him down instead. He climbed his way to the surface by using Daichi as a foothold. Daichi had tried to hold on, clawing at Suga’s arms, but the gray-haired boy in the dream didn’t hesitate to detach the slippery hands and swim toward the boat._

 “I’m telling you, you don’t have to be. Enough of this.” Suga begins walking away. _Daichi, my mom, my dad, everyone—they all tried to help, but I did nothing for them. I just used them. They drowned because of me._

_I know it’s not real. I know it’s just a bad dream._

_Why do I feel so guilty?_

He hears Daichi approaching and part of him is glad, and hates that he’s glad. Suga hates that Daichi makes him so hopeful. He hates that when he’s lonely or scared the first face that pops into his mind, the hand the he reaches out for, the voice he longs to hear all belong to Daichi. He hates how the mere sight of the captain can make his heart race, yet also calm him when no one else can.

And he hates himself for pretending not to know what this all means, because if he switches the word ‘hate’ for ‘like’ then everything would make so much more sense, wouldn’t it? But he can’t deal with that now. What would that even mean for him?

His chest hurts. He’s tired. He wants to be alone.

He likes Sawamura Daichi. In a romantic way.

And he feels so guilty.

“Suga, wait,” Daichi pleads, that tone getting him to stop before he can turn the corner into the courtyard. Suga paces back to Daichi, feeling on the verge of snapping, whether that will manifest as bursting into tears or another thrown punch, he’s not sure.

“I’m just trying to help,” Daichi says.

“You’re just trying to get into my pants!” Like the physical blow he dealt, he’s unaware of what he’s saying until it’s already out of his mouth and hanging in the air alongside the smell of garbage. It makes him just as sick.

Yet something about watching his words register with Daichi and seeing the boy’s brown eyes go from sympathetic to shocked—something about watching his perfectly constructed expression shatter—is oddly satisfying.

“Wha—”

“You think I’ve never noticed the way you look at me?” Suga continues. He’s never heard his own voice sound quite so snide. “How dense do you think I am?”

Daichi goes redder than Suga’s ever seen, and his eyebrows jump up. He splutters, “I—Uh—That’s not what this is about at all!”

“So, you aren’t using this as an excuse to get closer to me? My guard’s down and I’m emotional and you mean to tell me you’re not taking advantage of that?” He’s argued with Daichi before, but never over anything half as serious as this. It was always stupid little things like copying homework or volleyball or stealing part of his lunch.

“No!” Daichi yells, frustration replacing embarrassment. “I would never take advantage of that!”

Distantly, Suga thinks, _this is what bullies do. I’m just hurting him, and I have no reason to hurt him_. _Just that it makes me feel…in control? It makes me feel…better…momentarily…when I don’t think about it._ _Daichi doesn’t deserve this._

Quietly: “I would never hurt you, Suga. You have to believe that.”

“I don’t _.” I do. I know you would never._ “You’ve liked me for a long time…” _‘I’ve wanted you for so long,’_ _Nakamura whispers in his memories._ “…but lately you’ve been especially close. It’s weird.”

“No. I said I was going to be there. I promised,” Daichi says firmly. He waits a breath before calmly stating, “It’s true that I like you, but I would never force myself on you. That’s—”

_The waves roll mercilessly. Daichi reaches for Suga. Suga grabs ahold of his wrist, detaches it, and—_

 “I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”

_—lets go. The vice-captain watches the boy sink, not sure if he’s the one drowning in his own lie._

“Period,” he asserts, twisting the knife further. “I never will. To be honest, I find the idea of being with a guy…” _Stop. Stop. Stop right here, Koushi, while there’s still time to turn back._ “…gross.”

Daichi doesn’t look him in the eye. He says, in a quiet voice that lacks the confidence from earlier, “Okay. That’s okay.” He nods as if Suga has said something worth thought. He runs a hand through his short hair and continues to avoid eye contact. Suga can tell he’s biting his lip. Why does he want to hurt his best friend like this? Why is he so invested in seeing how far he can push the captain?

“You’ve never had sex with a guy, have you, Daichi?”

Daichi shakes his head slowly, voice solemn when he says, “It’s not the same as what he did to you. I haven’t, but I know it’s not—”

“If you’ve never been with a guy, how do you even know that you’ll like it?”

Daichi smiles then. He fucking smiles and says, “Suga, I know you’re just trying to goad me.”

_You’re the one goading me, with that smile and that soft voice and the way you take my hand easily when we’re alone. I hate the confused way I feel when I’m around you—the feeling like I’m going to be washed away by a strong current or blown into the sky by the wind._

“I understand,” Daichi says. “And I know you’re hurting right now, so…”

“You don’t know anything!” Suga interjects. How could he say that he _knows_? What does he _know_?

“Then tell me something.” And for the first time during this fight, Daichi seems to growing legitimately agitated, beyond simple frustration and different from the anger he uses to keep the team in check. “You know who did this to you, don’t you? _You do_. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so evasive all the time. You’re not telling me for whatever reason, and—”

“You’re wrong,” Suga lies.

Daichi groans, and his voice rises with each word. “And you’re lying. Is it someone in our grade? A-are you safe at home?”

“You’re accusing my dad, now?” _I wanted this, didn’t I? I wanted a fight. I wanted to provoke him._

“What am I supposed to think? You lie about not knowing who did this to you, you lied that day you skipped practice, you’re lying to your parents. You lie every day when you say you’re okay, and _you don’t need to._ Why are you being so stubborn about this?”

“Stop,” Suga cries, raising his hands between them. _Why are you crying, Koushi, you wanted this right?_ “I guess I’m nothing but a fucking liar. It doesn’t matter what I say now.”

“Did he threaten you? We can call the police if he did. Hell, we can call the police if he didn’t.”

Nakamura did threaten him. He said all sorts of things. Things that sounded like they’d hurt. Things that sounded like they’d be humiliating. Things that Suga had never heard of. He laid out all of the teen’s options and then slowly dismantled them one by one with a coercion so convincing that Suga almost believed that Nakamura had his best interest at heart. That last line wasn’t even necessary by that time.

_‘If that doesn’t inspire you to keep your mouth shut, then I could always do all that to one of your friends instead.’_

“ _Stop!”_ Suga repeats. He wipes the tears from his face furiously. “I just don’t want to think about it. You wouldn’t either. Please just let it go.”

“Suga, I’m sorry. I just want to help. I just—”

The gray-haired teen jumps back from Daichi’s reach. “Don’t _touch_ me.”

Daichi flinches, retracting his hand.

 “I’m sorry okay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I make you uncomfortable.”

A strong gust of wind blows through the grounds. Both teens bury their ungloved hands in their pockets. Suga regrets it all. _You crossed the line a long time ago. You should have stopped a long time ago. You should have apologized._ “Daichi…”

“What do you want me to do, Suga?” he says, voice flat and resigned.

 _Forgive me,_ he wants to say but doesn’t. “Just give me some time. Some space. Stop picking apart everything I do. And stop calling my mom.” _I think he drowned. I think I drowned him. He’s the first casualty of mine._ Suga sighs. “If you’ll excuse me, I have cleaning duty for Hayami-sensei.”

***

“It seems like Daichi-san and Suga-san are still fighting,” Yamaguchi mentions as they mill around before practice.

Hinata’s fist clench, unsure whether he should tell the other first years about what he overheard yesterday before practice. He knows he shouldn’t have heard it. Daichi-san’s raised voice sort of froze him in place as if that anger had been directed at Hinata. The orange-haired spiker had peeked his head around the corner of the main building just in time to hear the captain accuse his friend of lying.

“What’s wrong, dumbass?” Kageyama asks. “You look like you’re thinking too hard. You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Shut up,” Hinata grumbles. Face scrunching up, he teeters on the edge of speech, but after another thirty seconds of everyone looking at him, waiting, he bursts, “I heard Daichi-san and Suga-san arguing after school yesterday.”

Tsukishima is the first to speak, saying, lazily, “It’s none of our business if they’re fighting or not.”

“But—”

“We shouldn’t pry. Were you eavesdropping?” Kageyama adds.

Hinata’s expression falls into a frown.  “No, I wasn’t, but—”

“Hinata, I think Tsukki and Kageyama are right,” Yamaguchi says gently. “This is something that doesn’t concern us, I think.”

“But it sounded really serious,” the short spiker says before anyone can interrupt him. He rushes, “Daichi said Suga-san was lying about stuff and asked if Suga-san was safe at home, and he mentioned something about someone threatening Suga-san, and he said they could call the police, and then he said about how he just wanted to help and—”

“What are you talking about? Slow down, Hinata.”

He’s got their attention now, all three of the previously disinterested first years leaning closer as the rest of the team arrives.

“It sounded like someone was threatening Suga-san, but he wouldn’t tell Daichi who, no matter what Daichi said. And Daichi-san said they could call the police.”

“What did Suga-san say to that?” Yamaguchi asks hurriedly.

“He wouldn’t answer. He just kept telling Daichi-san to ‘stop.’ And then Captain kept on apologizing and apologizing, but…” His gaze drops to his feet. Thinking back to the scene, Hinata remembers what looked like tears flowing down Suga’s face, which was perhaps the most shocking thing about the entire situation. Seeing Suga-san cry over something that wasn’t volleyball was surreal. During these past weeks of the setter looking sick and sad sometimes, and even after he had broken his nose, Hinata hadn’t seen him cry once.

“What?” Kageyama demands.

Something else bothers him. He says, “No matter how many times Dacihi-san apologized, he wouldn’t forgive him.”

Yamaguchi frowns. “That’s not like Suga-san.” Hinata can tell that Yamaguchi is thinking hard, and hopes that the pinch server will be able to figure out something that he had not. Volleyball is most fun when everybody is having fun. He just wants the team to go back to how it was before.

“It seems like Daichi-san knows more about what’s going on than we do,” Tsukishima says, breaking the silence. “So, we should leave it to him.”

Hinata gapes up at him. “But Tsukishima, they’re not talking right now. What if Suga-san needs us?” he says. “We should all do something for him, to show him that we’re here for him.”

“Oy! What are you guys doing over there?” Tanaka yells at them. They all jump. “Didn’t you hear Daichi? Come on.”

“What should we do?” Yamaguchi asks.

Tsukishima just sighs.

***

After morning practice on Wednesday, Suga finds the little orange-haired spiker in front of him bouncing from foot to foot and complimenting him generously. Suga lets out a breathy laugh at all the energy the first year still has.

“Suga-san,” Hinata starts, sounding giddy. “I’ve just got this new game I’ve been waiting for, and Kenma told me that it’s really cool, so would you like to come over and play it with me? I’ll make sure my little sister won’t bother us and it’ll be _super_ fun.”

Suga goes from surprised to confused to bemused in the space of five seconds. “I’m sorry, Hinata. I have a lot of homework to do, and studying for a test I missed, so I can’t. Thanks for inviting me though. Maybe Kageyama would like to?”

“Aw, all right,” Hinata mumbles, disappointed. “Raincheck?”

“Of course,” Suga replies confidently. A fond smile plays at his lips as the short spiker brightens instantly and traipses off.

It happens again, during morning break when Suga is switching out his history books for science. Kageyama strides up to him, wide-eyed and looking out of place. Suga watches him approach with a furrowed brow, thinking, _what can it be now? What can’t wait until Club?_

“Sugawara-san, do you have a moment?”

“Sure,” he replies, closing his locker with a dull _click_.

Kageyama nods to himself before saying, “It’s about, uh, the signals you came up with.”

“Yes?”

Kageyama looks put on the spot, which is bizarre because isn’t Kageyama the one who approached him in the first place?

“Um,” the ravenette starts. “Uh, they’re really great. And…you’re…great for coming up with them. Thank you so much.” Kageyama then drops into a bow, turns on his heel, and speeds away without saying anything more. People passing by stop to look between the retreating first year and Suga, who’s standing there with his mouth open.

What on earth was that about?

When Yamaguchi shows up in his classroom at lunch, waving from the doorway, Suga is not entirely surprised, though his patience is starting to wane. He wonders what these first years are up to because this can’t be coincidental.

“Suga-san, are you feeling well?” the freckled boy asks with a pleasant smile.

Suga studies him, from the genuine question in his eyes to the way he holds his hands together in front of him. The piece of hair that always sticks up sways just barely when he tilts his head. Suga concentrates back on his kouhai’s face. “Yes, I’m fine.”

“Do you need anything?” Yamaguchi is quick to ask. “Maybe something from the vending machine?”

“Daichi is getting some drinks already. Thank you. But you should go eat your lunch before you run out of time.”

“Okay,” the boy says after a pause. He waves again. “See you later, Suga-san.”

The setter lays his head down on his desk, eyelids floating closed. It seems that even with holding Daichi at a distance, he can’t exactly shake all of the questions. He has a sneaking suspicion that Daichi is behind this though. He yawns. A nap sounds good right about now—besides he doesn’t think he’ll be able to finish his lunch anyways.

An hour and a half later, during afternoon break, Suga finds himself peering up at a quiet Tsukishima. “Can I help you?” the setter asks, perhaps a little too curt.

Tsukishima pouts, disrupting his usual bored expression. “How are you feeling?” he asks, sounding like a petulant child their mother forced into being nice to a distant relative.

“I’m fine. Thanks for asking. But why?”

The blond blocker shrugs, avoiding Suga’s gaze. “No reason,” he says. “It’s nothing. Have a nice day.”

_Even Tsukishima’s in on it. It has to be his doing._

After class, Suga strides up to the captain’s desk, determined to get answers out of the person he’s sure is behind this. “Daichi,” Suga almost growls, leaning on the captain’s desk once he’s sure no one’s paying attention. “Did you tell the first years to check up on me?”

“I did no such thing,” Daichi responds, standing and gathering his things.

Suga glares. “Then why is it that every time I turn around one of them is there asking how I am or offering to do me a favor? Even Tsukishima showed up during break to ask how I was feeling.”

“I don’t know, Suga,” Daichi says with an edge to his voice. “Maybe because they _care_ about you. Maybe because they’re _worried_ about you. Why is that such a bad thing?” Daichi pushes in his chair loudly and stalks out. The few students who are left start throw curious glances toward Suga.

In his periphery, Suga sees Nakamura smiling while shuffling papers, hair taken down from its ponytail and shielding his eyes. _He’s happy, is he?_ Suga bites his tongue and hurries to meet Hayami-sensei before he finds himself alone with Nakamura.

***

The makeup test doesn’t take long. Suga brings his hands up to his mouth to warm them as he hurries across the front courtyard to his bike. Lampposts stand at frequent intervals, smearing the otherwise indigo air into a brightly lit canvas of familiar bushes and benches. In the distance, Suga swears he can hear the sound of shoes squeaking against the court and volleyballs slamming into the gym floor.

He told Daichi he would miss practice today, even though he knew the test wouldn’t take so long. _Here’s another lie to add to my rap sheet_. He doesn’t feel like having the eyes of the entire team on him, trying to discern why he flubbed that last toss or why he doesn’t smile like he used to.

Besides, he and Daichi aren’t even properly speaking right now, so it’s probably easier for everyone if he doesn’t show. As he pushes his bike past the main gate, he blows out his breath, watching it twist in the air in front of him. It’s been very cold this past week.

Out of nowhere, Suga’s bike is lifted from his hands and fitted into a car’s trunk. His mouth drops open in indignation, mind conjuring up a scenario of a robbery, but when the man crosses through the brightness of the taillights and onto the sidewalk, Suga wishes it were a mere robbery. He stumbles backwards a little bit, his movements slow, brain still a step behind.

 _Him_.

Nakamura swoops the teen into his arms and holds him there, flush against his body. He lets his hands wander down Suga’s back as though he’s been granted every right to the boy’s body. Suga’s arms get stuck at his sides in the process. The man smells of obnoxious cologne and sweet alcohol.

“Sugawara,” Nakamura-sensei mumbles into his ear. “It’s been too long.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -writing this was mostly fun but editing it was bad for the heart  
> -anyways, the pace picks up for a while, the next four or five chapters all happening within the same 24 hours, so "omg, whatever could happen to warrant such a thing?"
> 
> SHARPEN YOUR PITCHFORKS


	8. 'Wear Your Seatbelt'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk  
> -Take breaks, prepare fluffly fanfics, hold a puppy, curse me out in the comments--do whatever you need to do to get through this. Or don't. Skip the last scene, from right after Nakamura's like "wear your seatbelt. it'll keep you safe" if you need to. Tread carefully.  
> ***Trigger Warnings: VIOLENCE, RAPE***

“Naka—” Suga starts.

“Why don’t you come with me.” It’s not posed as a question. Nakamura pulls back, keeping one arm wrapped firmly around the boy, moving toward where he’s already opened the car door for Suga.

Digging his heels into the pavement, the setter pushes back. “No. No, I can’t.” If what happens that day happens again, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. He’ll have to start over again from scratch. Or maybe it won’t be as bad. Or maybe it will be worse. Why can’t he be like every other high school student who only has to worry about school and clubs or maybe a job, but certainly not _this_.

“Why not? You’re skipping practice, are you not? You have time before you’re expected home.”

“Please, just let go. I won’t say anything.”

“But that’s not true, is it?” the man says. “You may not have said my name, but you did tell those friends of yours.”

Suga’s eyes go wide because he knows there’s no way that Nakamura-sensei could know that he said something to Daichi. “No,” he lies desperately, recalling all of the things his teacher threatened to do if he spoke out. He tries to quell the rising fear in the pit of his stomach. “I didn’t say anything. I swear.”

“It must be nice, having friends that are so accepting.” His tone doesn’t sound like he thinks it’s nice. Suga opens his mouth to deny saying anything, but is quickly cut off. “They’re all so protective of you. Lately every time I glance up, someone is there looking after you. They’re like little guard dogs. Except Sawamura-kun of course.”

“Let go of me.”

“He’s been distant. What happened? Did he take it badly since he liked you? Was he mad because he didn’t get to be first?” Nakamura’s hand travels down to Suga’s ass, squeezing it with a laugh.

He flinches hard and hits his teacher’s hand away, but the man just grabs his wrist. “Get your hands off me,” Suga growls, putting as much strength into his voice as he can. It turns into a scuffle, the boy’s limbs blocked and dodged at the last second, Nakamura’s reflexes just as good as Suga’s. Frustration digs its fingernails into Suga’s chest. His teacher cages him against the against the car and brings his face too close.

“Nothing’s going to change,” Nakamura declares.

Damn that matter-of-fact tone. Damn that gaze he can’t hold. Damn every breath that comes out of this man’s mouth because it feels like a knife dragged along his skin.

“You’re just going to go home and mope, and then come to school tomorrow and smile to those cute little first years while worrying the entire afternoon that I’m going to ask you to stay after again. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

“You’re wrong,” he says easily. Suga’s mind completely disagrees.

“I don’t think I am. You see, I understand you, Sugawara. Better than anyone else.”

Suga can only shake his head.

“Let’s see. You feel bad because they’re spending so much time worrying about you. You don’t want to be fussed over, but you can’t seem to do anything yourself,” Nakamura muses, and Suga’s reaction is all that he needs to continue. “So, you keep using them. You take from them and take from them and don’t give anything in return. And that’s how it’s going to be. What do you possibly have to give? I doubt even Sawamura-kun will want you after you’ve been screwed by someone else. But you’re nice and sweet right, so maybe that’s enough for him.”

Every word out of the man’s mouth is poison seeping into Suga’s bloodstream. The mention of Daichi brings the fight to the forefront of his mind, all the things the setter said raining down on him heavily. _You’re just trying to get into my pants. So, you aren’t using this as an excuse to get closer to me. I find the idea of being with a guy gross. I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you._ ‘Nice,’ right. He wouldn’t be here if he hadn’t said those things.

“Or have you not been lately? Is that why he’s not speaking to you?” Suga shrinks away from Nakamura’s words and closeness, telling himself to ignore it all. But he can’t. “And now you’re all alone, despite everything. I bet you’re wondering if you’re really worth all this attention. You’re not the smartest or the best at sports or a natural leader. You’re not much of anything. They don’t really understand you anymore either. But I do. I’ve seen all of you. You don’t have to hide anything from me. I’ll show you your worth.”

It’s difficult to breathe. “Why me?” he says, hating the way his voice sounds—like he’s on the verge of tears. He doesn’t want to show weakness in front of this man and he doesn’t want Nakamura to know just how much his words get to him, but in the very back of his mind, in the last minutes before sleep every night, he’s always wondered. “Why are you doing this to me? Why’d it have to be me?”

“Come with me and find out.”

His lips quiver, barely forming the words, “I’m not stupid.”

“You’re not fighting,” Nakamura replies with the lilt of a smile.

“I hate you.” He hits Nakamura but can’t muster the strength to make the man blink. He’s so powerless. Maybe it’d be better to hit himself, so then he’d come to his senses instead of feeling more and more like his mind is falling down a sinkhole. “I hate you. Fuck, I hate you. Why?”

“Are you sure you just don’t hate yourself?”

No!

No.

no.

 _Yes_. His stomach twists viciously until he’s doubled over, spitting nothing but saliva and vision swimming. No, he does hate himself. He hates himself so much for everything. For what happened that day. And after, for making himself puke and getting caught and scaring the team. For telling Daichi because obviously Daichi is better off not being in the middle of this. He hates himself for what he said. For how he’s acted since. Suga thinks back over these three weeks. He’s really not worth all the trouble he’s put everyone through.

“You’re just being stubborn at this point.”

Is he? Suga raises his head. Is it being stubborn if everyone just keeps pushing and pushing, like Nakamura is now, edging him closer to the open car door like he wouldn’t notice. He supposes that _is_ the definition of stubborn. Why is he even struggling this hard when everything would be so much easier if he didn’t? Nakamura pushes Suga into the passenger seat. It hurts so much to fight. He always feels like he’s on the verge of shattering. Everything is always so cyclical and ends up where it started— _like, every time I make some progress, it’s always undone by week’s end_. He should just give up. Give in.

 _I’m so tired of fighting_.

He welcomed the sinkhole in his mind, slipping further and further into the abyss.

Vaguely, Suga hears the car door shut between him and the outside world. Then Nakamura’s beside him starting the car, and he watches the school gate slip further and further away until the image is swallowed up by the dark.

***

The longer they drive, the more time Suga has to think about what he’s done and the more restless he becomes. What was going through his head earlier? Mind a little clearer now, Suga doesn’t understand how this man—this absolutely disgusting man—talked him into getting into this car. 

The cogs in his mind start turning, trying to devise a way out of this situation. He sneaks a glance at Nakamura. He doubts the man will let him go if he asks. Fists clench in his lap as he thinks, _How could I have let him mess with my head like that? How?_ His heart beats faster.

“Where are we going?” he dares to ask. _Nakamura’s house, some love hotel, a deserted parking lot_ —Suga’s imagination conjures up scenarios, each making him more nervous than the last. The teacher doesn’t answer, doesn’t even spare a glance in Suga’s direction so he clears his throat. “Nakamura-sensei.”

“A place I used to go,” Nakamura finally replies after another long silence.

 _Why does that sound even worse?_ Unable to stay calm, he’s afraid he won’t be able to get himself out of this. He’s frightened and he’s angry and Nakamura is so serene. He hates that Nakamura is collected. He seizes onto this hate like a lifeline because it’s not directed at himself. Like with Daichi, Suga wants to crack that façade.

“So, why did your wife leave you?”

“Students know about that, huh?” Nakamura comments, an edge to his voice even though he tries to pass it off as aloof. His voice only grows louder and more bitter. “She left because she found out about the prostitutes. It isn’t as if I was anything less than kind and generous with her. But the greedy bitch decided to blackmail me. She’s got proof and she threatened to go to the school if I didn’t give her the house, everything in it, and practically all of my money.”

“Oh, that’s what happened?” Suga’s voice is noticeably lacking in empathy.

“What does that mean?”

Having driven through most of the residential areas of town, the houses are getting sparser here. There’s more fields and vacant lots, the mountains looming in the distance. It’s starting to seem likely that the place that Nakamura used to go is out of town.

“Nothing. Just that you seem—”

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Suga can see Nakamura’s calm mask slipping and revels in it. He wants to keep prodding. Furthermore, if his teacher is going to be this frank, he might as well keep questioning. “But why did you…do that…rape me when you have prostitutes?”

“I told you! The bitch took all my money!”

_So, because I was free._

“But you—” Before he can finish, Nakamura’s fist slams into his cheek, spinning his head toward the window. Pain explodes throughout his face like a grenade. Suga blinks, mouth still open around a forgotten word, too shocked or too frightened to move his face from the position it was put in. He remains perfectly still.

“I told you, didn’t I? Christ, you don’t listen,” Nakamura spits.

Suga cringes away from the loudness of his voice, jumping when his teacher’s hand touches his neck lightly. Gently. He wants to cry. The word “relative” pops into his mind. As in, ‘relative to the strike across his face, this hand on his neck is bearable.’ He knows that he hates it—he hates Nakamura’s hands on him in any way—but at least it’s not the punch from seconds ago. At least it’s not a hand in his pants. Relative to those things, this is okay. He tells himself this but still can’t look Nakamura’s way.

“You need to listen,” Nakamura whispers.

 _Okay_. Suga bites his lips together to keep from screaming at himself.

“I thought you were beautiful from the first time I saw you,” Nakamura purrs while playing with the hair behind the teen’s ear. “You remind me of him.”

Suga stares down at his hands folded in his lap, biting back tears. “Who?” he asks even though he wouldn’t be able to bring himself to care if he tried. All he knows is that Nakamura isn’t violent right now—the man isn’t hurting him, and he wants it to stay that way for as long as possible.

“Who?” Nakamura repeats, lost in thought. “Someone I knew in high school. A senpai on my baseball team. Fourth batter.”

 _When the car stops again_ , Suga thinks to himself, mouth already starting to swell from Nakamura’s punch _. I’ll jump out when the car stops._ For now, he’ll listen patiently, keep Sensei talking, and wait for his moment. Maybe the man will be so caught up in the memories that he’ll stop paying attention long enough for Suga to make his escape.

“Fourth batter, huh?” Suga says thickly around his swollen cheek. He slips a hand to the seatbelt buckle, gauging when the best time to unbuckle it will be. “Isn’t that the position given to the best batter? What did you play?”

“Usually the third has the highest average while the fourth has the power. On the field, he played Shortstop; I played Left Field. If anything slipped past him, it was my job to back him up. You look just like him, Sugawara.” Nakamura pauses. “He was a real bastard.”

Suga’s heart sinks. “Oh,” he says. _If there’s animosity here, maybe this isn’t the best subject after all_. Still, he steels himself and asks, “Why?”

“My second year I didn’t get to play often because a lot of third years stuck around. Anyways, there was one game I played because somehow the usual Leftfielder came down with food poisoning.” The way that Nakamura’s mouth curves up at the edges when he says this makes Suga pretty damn sure that the food poisoning was no accident. The man’s fingers twine through the teen’s gray locks fully. “I played a great game. You should have seen it. And I have been riding on the high of the win because I confessed to him that night. And he ignored me.”

 _Maybe he rejected you because you’re the type of person to poison a senpai so that you could play in a game. Maybe he could tell, even then, that you would grow up to be a person who raped boys half his age._ Suga remains silent, having learned his lesson about his comments on Nakamura’s wife.

“But a week later he approached me. You want to know what he said?” Nakamura’s grip suddenly turns viselike, fingernails digging into Suga’s scalp and causing him to cry out in pain. With a handful of the setter’s hair, he hisses, “He said, ’Suck my dick. You said you loved me, didn’t you?’ And not just his. Three other third years also wanted in on the action. Because I was dumb and thought I was in love, I did it every week until they graduated. It was the only time I could get him to look my way.”

Nakamura drags Suga’s head down to his lap. “Here. Why don’t you blow me?”

The seatbelt digs into Suga’s shoulder, chest and neck craned awkwardly over the center console, face so close his nose is brushing Nakamura’s thigh. His hands scrabble to detach his teacher’s as water springs to his eyes. “Please. Stop. It hurts. Let go. Stop.” He can’t get leverage no matter how hard he tries to pry the other’s fingers away. All he can see is the fabric of Nakamura’s slacks and the seat cover beneath him.

Finally, after another minute of struggling, Nakamura releases him with an eye roll and the complaint, “You’re no fun.” For a few minutes, he thrums his fingers on the steering wheel. “Let me give you some advice, Sugawara. It’s about that boy Sawamura. He doesn’t love you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Suga replies immediately. He knows he’s pushing his luck—hell, he’s sure there’s still remnants of terror dancing around his irises—but he can’t have his teacher thinking Daichi is any closer than he actually is. The further the captain is from this entire situation, the better. So, he says, “It’s not like that. At all. He’s just a friend.”

“I know teenage boys. I was one and I’ve been teaching them for almost ten years. They’ll just use you while they can and then get rid of you.”

“Like you did to me?” Suga quips. His hand inches back to the seatbelt buckle. _It has to be soon_.

“You sure are mouthy today. Yet, you don’t want to put it to good use.”

“No,” he says. He clicks the button, covering the sound with a feigned coughing fit. After regaining his composure, and with a hand clutching the belt, Suga says, “Daichi would never in a million years use me like that. He’s a good guy. Daichi is—”

A hand falls onto his thigh. “Let’s stop talking about him, shall we?” The hand travels up and Suga holds his breath, and then back down. Suga breathes. Nakamura says, “I regret bringing him up.”

_Soon. Stay calm, Koushi. There’s still time._

But he’s wrong. Nakamura doesn’t bring the car to a full stop when he turns off onto a smaller road, one that goes up into the mountains. Suga never noticed that they were already this far from the heart of town, having paid too much attention to what was happening inside. How much it would hurt to jump out of a moving car? There’s no streetlights out here and the last house must have been more than a mile back. It’s a stretch, but… He thinks _, maybe. Just maybe, I can do this._

Shaking his head to physically dispel any fear, he quietly positions himself so that he’ll be ready to jump. _Unlock the door while letting go of the seatbelt, open the door, and jump_. If he falters on any of these steps, then it’s over. _I can’t go back in time and not get in this car. I’m here now, so I have to do everything I can._

 _Three._ He takes a deep breath.

_Two. This is my only chance._

_One._

Just as he’s pulling the lock up and letting go, he’s hauled back hard against the seat, head snapping against the headrest. Nakamura’s hand clenches tightly around the seatbelt strap, drawing it tightly along Suga’s neck.

“You’re braver than I thought,” Nakamura says appreciatively, tugging a little bit harder, and braking quickly just to be cruel. “I was waiting for you to make your move ever since you unbuckled your seatbelt, but to think that you would try to escape while the car was moving? I underestimated you.”

“I…can’t…breathe.” Suga tries to pull this seatbelt away and give his windpipe a reprieve.

“But I should have known. That first time you really tried to fight too.” Nakamura clicks the seatbelt back into place with a knowing smirk, and Suga bends over, catching his breath. “Always wear your seatbelt, Sugawara. It’ll keep you safe.”

***

The drive up the mountain is long, made longer by the unbroken silence. When the car finally rolls to a stop, the only thing discernable about their location is that it’s a clearing wider than the road and there are a few picnic tables along one of the edges. It’s dark out and the trees that box in the area are tall and imposing, like a wall specifically built for this occasion. Nakamura said that this was a place he used to come?

The heavy tension breaks when Nakamura turns fully to the teenager. His gaze is sharp and lingering. The man pulls off his tie with one hand and leans toward Suga, who backs into the furthest corner, seatbelt forgotten. He grabs for Suga’s wrists but the boy promptly yanks them back, trying for the door. Teeth gritted, Nakamura climbs halfway across the middle console. He force’s Suga out of his coat like an angry child undressing an unwanted doll. He wastes no time unbuttoning the boy’s dress shirt, pulling it apart and then focusing his impatience on the T-shirt underneath. It’s all tossed to the floor. 

Suga smacks and scratches those rough hands at every turn, scared that if he holds his own still for a second too long or raises them too high, they’ll be bound. He’s panting trying to keep up, trying to keep Nakamura at bay, trying to keep this man from touching him, but the bastard _keeps on_ _touching_ him. He jabs an elbow into Nakamura’s stomach.

“Why must you fight so much?” Nakamura grinds out. Suga sees the swing and his eyes go wide before he’s able to turn his head or raise his hands. The right side of his face takes the brunt of the blow again. Tasting blood in his mouth, he blinks his vision back into focus. It hurts so much he can barely think. “Why must you be so difficult? It would go much more smoothly if you’d just do as you’re told.”

Nakamura uses his tie to bind the boy’s wrists together tightly. _No_. Suga shivers under his teacher’s unforgiving gaze. _No. This is bad._ They’re in the middle of nowhere. There is absolutely no hope of anyone coming to rescue him this time.

“Get in the back,” Nakamura commands.

“No,” Suga gasps.

After three failed attempts, Nakamura heaves Suga up and shoves him between the seats. The car is too small. There are too many edges and objects to bump into. Suga’s face hits and slides off of the backseat and onto the floor, his right foot somehow tangled underneath his left. He kicks out but only hits the dashboard. His still-healing nose throbs painfully. And then Nakamura grabs ahold of his legs and hauls the rest of him into the back.

The fake leather seats are cold. He curses. This result was decided from the time that car door first closed, wasn’t it? It was over then. No matter how much struggling he’s done, his fate was already sealed. Right? But his mind is like a pendulum, always swinging back and forth between hopelessness and optimism. He can’t imagine getting out of this. But he also can’t seem to quite give up. Every time he tries to, something inside him shouts, “ _no_.”

Trying to reach for the door, he yells, “Stop! You pervert! Just stop!” Nakamura crawls on top of him and holds him back. “Get your hands off me! Stop, you bastard!”

“You’re going to regret making so much trouble,” Nakamura growls. He shoves Suga’s face into the window, the boy releasing a loud yelp. “Oh. I forgot that you broke your nose. Two weeks ago, was it? I bet it hurts.” He continues to push until Suga is shouting appeasements.

“Please, just stop! Please. I’ll do whatever.”

“Tell me you want it.”

His stomach twists. “No!”

Nakamura chuckles and doesn’t let up.

“Ow! Okay, okay!” Suga croaks as he feels his nose rebreak and blood drip down thickly. Mouth trembling, he tries to speak. All that comes out is little more than a whisper. The teacher only prompts him to be louder. “I want it. I want it! Okay. Let go!”

Nakamura’s hands go to Suga’s belt instead. _There’s so many things I would do differently if I could._ Nakamura slides Suga’s pants and underwear down, removing them completely past his legs and pulling the shoes from his feet too. _So many things._ In the reflection of the dark window, he can just make out his eye blinking back at him. That man runs his hands all over, finally settling on Suga’s hips. _I should have gone to practice today._

“Sugawara,” Nakamura-sensei breathes excitedly. “Say it again.”

“I want it,” he recites. _I hate myself._

“Again, like you mean it.” Nakamura starts licking and biting his way up Suga’s back.

Suga winces and tries, louder this time, “I want it.”

_I hate myself. I hate myself._

Nakamura pushes a finger inside of the teen. “Say it,” Nakamura demands, thrusting the finger. So Suga says it, repeats it over and over as the one finger turns to two then three, as his teacher’s free hand slides down his pale thigh. Each time he nearly chokes on the words. He promises himself that he won’t cry, no matter how much it hurts.

 _I should have gone to practice_ , he thinks again _. I should have accepted the first years’ kindness_. The sound of a zipper resounds in his ears _. I should have swallowed my pride and apologized to Daichi._ The tip of Nakamura’s hard cock presses against his entrance, the man taking his time to enter. It feels like an eternity later that the man stops, fully inside.

Suga’s wrists hurt from trying to loosen the tie, so, futilely, he tries to focus on that instead.

The teacher goes slower this time and with each thrust Suga can’t help but scrunch his eyes tighter in pain, breathless. It hurts.  The friction hurts. His face hits against the window each time. He deserves this pain. _No crying_ , he thinks, fingers pressed against his lips. With each thrust, the gray-haired teen thinks _, I hate myself_ , until that phrase is all that he clings to. As if it will keep him sane.

Nakamura sinks his face into the boy’s neck, inhaling deeply through his nose and mouthing at the skin there. His arms wrap around the setter’s torso tightly, deep grunts reverberating through Suga’s bones. He’s done something similar the first time. It must be a position he enjoys.

Suga hates it. He hates the weight of that man’s body laid out over him. He despises every inch of skin that comes into contact with his teacher’s. And Nakamura, with his disgusting embrace, feels like the worst fitting coat, feels like a chafing sunburn, feels like a jammed seatbelt in a car that’s sinking into the ocean. It feels like sweat and heat and barely blossoming bruises. Calloused hands, fake leather, wrists tied too tightly, eager teeth, and prickly stubble. It feels like the shape of the word “no” and the sharpness of the chuckle that followed.

“So good. You’re so good,” Nakamura murmurs.

And then Nakamura’s length strikes a spot that makes Suga’s eyes to go wide and sends a shiver ripple through him. He’s confused. That felt—

“You like it there?” Nakamura asks, face so close Suga feels the brute’s eyelashes every time he blinks. Suga starts to shake his head but Nakamura aims for that spot again, and this time the feeling is stronger, the heat gathering in his crotch impossible to deny. Again and again, that man rams into his prostate, and Suga finds himself growing harder with each thrust.

He lets out several whimpers that might actually be moans. Cursing his body for betraying him, he closes his eyes again, eyelashes wet with the tears he promised he wouldn’t shed _. This is disgusting_ , he tells himself, but the pleasure muddles the rest of his thoughts. As the pace quickens, Suga’s overcome with the urge to touch himself. Nakamura’s saying something unintelligible, and the next thing he knows the man is stroking him with that calloused hand and it feels—

Clamping his mouth shut so no sound escapes, Suga’s body tenses right down to his toes as his orgasm takes hold. Pleasure eclipses his everything for a moment. And then he’s breathing through it and Nakamura’s hand is leaving his sticky cock. Nakamura spills inside soon after, pulling out only after milking himself dry. He sits back against the seat.

“Times like these, I wish I hadn’t quit smoking,” Nakamura-sensei mutters. “Hey, Sugawara?”

Huddled into a ball, Suga’s mind starts processing what’s happening, the fact that he came while being raped. The revulsion that he feels tastes bitter in his throat. His body aches, and he knows he’s covered in bruises and bite marks. His face feels puffy. His nose is throbbing. Dried blood masks the bottom half of his face with the same discomfort that sweat clings to his back and cum sticks to his stomach and thighs. He said he wouldn’t cry, he said he wouldn’t cry, he said he wouldn’t cry.

It's…He’s…

 _Disgusting_.

“Stop crying,” Nakamura sighs. Eyes leaking despite his promise, Suga glances at Nakamura-sensei—at the man who’s so calm—and doesn’t understand at all. Doesn’t he feel bad? Isn’t he disgusted too?

The setter pries his lips apart and says, “Stop breathing.”

Nakamura-sensei looks taken aback. “What?”

Suga holds his gaze unflinchingly, entire face in pain. “I wish you’d die.” Turning, he yanks on the door handle and tumbles from the car onto the uneven ground. He lands mostly on his left shoulder. Nakamura curses while Suga pulls himself up to his elbows and drags himself away from the car, inch by inch. The air immediately assails him with its biting cold teeth. His breath is even more visible than earlier.

Sensei follows him slowly. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, voice bemused.

The gray-haired boy tries his best to snort, still crawling at a snail’s pace. “What do you care? Aren’t you done with me? Or do you want another go?”

Nakamura uses his shoe to stop Suga, to lift his chin so that he’s forced to look up at the man. The expression on his face is completely foreign to Suga. Once again, the teen is pushed to wonder if Nakamura feels bad at all. He swats man’s shoe away after another thirty seconds of staring.

“What do you want to do?” Nakamura says then, breaking the silence. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“I want you to leave me,” Suga says evenly. “I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to spend another second with you.”

Getting into that car in the first place was pure insanity. The thought of getting into that car again and riding all the way back to town with him is even crazier. He’d rather be eaten by bears. He’d rather lose all his toes to frostbite. He’d rather join a wolfpack and live here in the mountains, because maybe then he’ll have sharpened his teeth enough to defend himself. He’d no longer be powerless prey.

“How do you plan on getting home?”

 _Just fucking do this one thing for me._  “I’ll make do, or maybe I won’t. Either way, it’s not your problem.”

“Okay, Sugawara,” he says in a patronizing voice, moving to the front seat to throw Suga’s bag out along with his shirts and coat. “Remember, you wanted this.”

 _That’s the only thing I wanted._ He lowers his head onto the dirt, lying on his side and watching as Nakamura throws his bike onto the ground without a care. He breathes heavily through his mouth. His teacher approaches him and crouches down reaching out for his hands but Suga pulls them into his chest, protectively.

“Don’t fucking touch me,” the teen says, shaking his head.

Nakamura all but rolls his eyes. His voice is exasperated when he asks, “You don’t want to be untied?”

“Don’t touch me,” Suga repeats.

Suga watches him from the ground again—watches him stand and walk away, hears the car door open and close. He squints against the bright red taillights and finally breathes as the car drives away, kicking up dust and rocks. His belongings are strewn throughout the dirt. The wind is relentless. The moon is bright and uncaring in the sky. And Suga is now alone. He’s alone.

Without even thinking, Suga finds himself hunched over and forcing his fingers down his throat. The effort of puking wracks his body, pushing against all the sore places inside of him, and after he’s finished, he’s not sure he feels any better. He’s so exhausted. His body is filthy. It’s cold. He just wants to go home, but “home” seems like a foreign word and Suga’s not sure he’ll be able to get there this time. He doesn’t feel particularly distressed by this thought. There’s one thing, though, that he absolutely has to do and there’s no giving up until he’s done it.

The pendulum swings between hopelessness and optimism. It gets stuck in the middle, somewhere closer to “optimism.” Determination propelling him, he crawls toward his school bag and fishes inside of it, retrieving his phone. Everything hurts.

Suga dials the familiar number, lying on his back as it rings. The stars stretch themselves out across the night sky above, dazzling and untouched and emitting a different aura than the moon. Kinder. More forgiving. Sympathetic to boys who regret getting into cars with older men—understanding of boys who’ve made a habit of saying things they don’t mean.

_“Mom. You don’t have to worry about me.”_

_“I need to miss practice today.”_

_“I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you.”_

_“I want it.”_

He wonders whether they grant redemption for boys who come into the hands of rapists.

Just when the setter begins to think that no one will answer, he hears a click and his heart lurches.

“Daichi,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *coughs*  
> -Next chapter was originally the one I was most looking forward to writing, but that's not necessarily the case anymore; we'll see where it goes  
> *considers activating airplane mode to hide from inevitable scary comments*


	9. Black Butterflies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [hey, look, it's that person who hasn't updated in more than a month]

Daichi paces his bedroom bumping a volleyball and contemplating the team’s upcoming practice match against Nekoma. It’s in a week, so he shouldn’t have ended practice early this evening. He reminds himself that he has an important test to study for. That’s his only reason calling it quits prematurely. Suga outright avoiding him ever since he confessed has nothing to do with it. Or so Daichi tells himself.

 _I didn’t even really confess. I_ —Suga’s face flashes in his mind—the face he had made when he’d said, “You think I’ve never noticed the way you look at me?” That patronizing gleam in those eyes… The captain didn’t know that Suga held the capacity to be that cruel. He hadn’t known how pain could twist a person’s heart until they thought that wounding someone else would shield themselves in future. Only halfway through their argument did Daichi realize the setter was just trying to get under his skin.

Afterwards, whenever he’d think of apologizing again or at least suggesting they end their argument, he’d remember the look on Suga’s face. Daichi’s ears would glow red with embarrassment and he’d decide that he couldn’t face his silver-haired friend just yet.

As frustrating and disappointing as it is, Suga just doesn’t like him, doesn’t like guys. He’s always hoped that Suga would like him back, or at least be accepting of his feelings. He’d fantasized about having someone to talk about this with—this thing that’s eating him up inside. It feels like he’s been holding his breath his entire life, like he can’t exhale without the fear of disturbing someone, like there’s not enough room in this world for him to be himself. Only when he’s on the court, in the middle of a game, body exhausted and brain preoccupied, are his walls truly dismantled. Then he can breathe, because then he’s not hiding from anyone or himself. It’s tiresome, trying to be the good student, the good captain, the good son all of the time.

Maybe he’d been hoping for too much. After all, Suga’s bound to be wary after what he’s gone through. So, he didn’t come to practice after he finished making up his history test—because there’s no way that it would take so long. If it’s his way of dealing…

What can Daichi say?

_I know it makes you uncomfortable, but come to practice anyway. I know you have other things on your mind, but come to practice anyway. I know you told me to stay away and I know I gross you out, but goddamn it, come to practice._

_I don’t want you to give up on the things you care about. I want you to still love volleyball and watch the same stupid shows as before and worry over your grades._

_I want to know you’re okay. I want to see you. I want you beside me._

_I don’t want to give you up. I want to be one of the things you care about._

Is liking Suga so wrong?

_“You’re just trying to get into my pants!”_

The ball goes flying off his arm randomly and knocks his desk lamp to the floor, plunging the room into darkness. Wincing at the sound, Daichi crouches to survey the damage. Shards of glass litter the floor, bulb broken, but lamp itself is completely intact. With a new bulb, it should work just fine. No big deal.

Everything’s been a big deal lately. Every good thing—every small smile and conversation initiated—has been a mountain climbed. Every clenched fist and wrong word spoken tantamount to a tsunami. Thinking back on the fight, was he really in the wrong? If someone hurt Suga, why won’t he say who? That man deserves to be punished tenfold for what he did.

Daichi’s thoughts are interrupted by two quick knocks and his door opening. His mother folds her arms in the doorway, asking, “What are you doing in here?”

She’s a small woman with hair and eyes as black as tar, tired circles hugging those dark orbs more often than not, and nails clipped shorter than her fingertips. A few years ago, she started working a second job, saying she had too much extra time on her hands now that her son had entered high school. So, now she goes from her early morning job at a local bakery to working at her brother’s restaurant in the afternoons.

During his first year, Daichi offered to get a job instead, but she waved him off, telling him to focus on his schoolwork and club. He offered a few more times, but his mother was always adamant about enjoying the work. Knowing it was selfish, he was relieved, having honestly hated working at his uncle’s restaurant during past summers despite the money it got him. Daichi shakes his head at her current question and discerning gaze.

“Sorry,” he says, tossing the last pieces of glass into the trashcan. Maybe he should vacuum too, just to be safe. “I just broke a bulb.”

“Daichi, try to be a little quieter. Your father has to be up early to catch a flight, remember?” His mother glances around his dim room and catches sight of his untouched school bag. She frowns and switches on the overhead light. “Have you finished your homework?”

Daichi sighs and places his volleyball carefully on the floor beside his bed. “Not yet. I’m doing it now.”

“Make sure you do,” she says before leaving.

Ignoring his backpack, Daichi throws himself onto his bed and groans into his mattress, brain immediately looping back to his previous thoughts. Suga’s not that lamp—the broken pieces can’t be replaced with identical parts. He’s not broken. Saying that he’s broken is saying that someone broke him and to Daichi it still seems wrong to acknowledge that power of some vile, cowardly bastard. _Stupid. Evil. Coward_. Why would someone do something like that? To Suga? It doesn’t make any sense. How could someone…?

His chest feels tight. He loves Suga so much. It pains Daichi to see him hurt and unable to help. After last weekend, he had thought that things were going to get better. Then, Monday, when the captain had come across Suga shaking and muttering to himself, an icy fear gripped him. To see Suga losing it like that caused his mind to go blank and he acted on impulse, reaching out to comfort his friend.

But then Suga hit him and turned down any words of comfort and eventually said:

_“You’re just trying to get into my pants!”_

He had been initially shocked at those words and then so flustered that he couldn’t even coherently respond. Everything Suga continued to say felt like punch after punch and Daichi couldn’t gather his bearings. It was surreal, trying to defend himself to someone whom he never thought he’d have to and having Suga look at him like he enjoyed seeing Daichi scrambling to keep up.

And to be accused of something as horrible as trying to take advantage of his best friend’s rape?

What the hell?

How could Suga compare Daichi to that scum—a rapist? Even if he didn’t completely mean it … Suga never even mentioned knowing about Daichi’s feelings.

 _God, what am I thinking? How messed up do I have to be to make this all about me when my best friend was raped_? Karasuno’s captain stands from his bed suddenly feeling sick. He runs his hands across his face. He shouldn’t have let Suga’s words get to him. He needs to forget about his feelings for a second—he’s been putting off confessing for over a year, what’s a little longer? Suga’s hurting and needs to come first right now, and if that means apologizing when he doesn’t think he’s entirely wrong, then so be it. First thing tomorrow he’s going to go over to the Sugawara residence and apologizing to his friend. A brief calm to descends upon him.

That peace is revoked when his phone rings and Suga’s name appears on the screen. Daichi hesitates, and then berates himself for hesitating because hadn’t he just decided to talk to his friend? _Now you’re nervous?_ After doing nothing but fight this week, he can only imagine what Suga has to say to him now. He stares at Suga’s name and face on the screen. Walking the length of his room, Daichi steels himself and answers.

That one moment of static-tinged silence exploits the hope nestled in the corners of his heart—the hope for everything to be all right and a future filled with more real smiles than fake ones. And then Suga speaks:

_“Daichi.”_

Suga didn’t call to argue. That’s immediately evident. What’s more, even though his voice is barely more than a whisper, there’s something off about it.  

_“Daichi, are you there?”_

“Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m here.”

_“I know you must not want to talk to me.”_

“That’s not true,” Daichi bursts in. He doesn’t know why it’s easier on the phone but he manages to say what he hasn’t been able to this past week. “That’s not true, Suga. I want to talk. So, don’t worry about that.”

There’s a pause in which he can only hear the vice-captain’s breathing.

Suga sucks in a breath. _“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything I said and for hitting you. I feel so bad and I’m sorry. I was so caught up in my own head that I didn’t think to apologize sooner.”_

Leaning against his desk and closing his eyes, he lets the words sink in. So straightforward. Why has it been so difficult for Daichi to find the courage to utter those same words? He’d been too caught up in his own head too. Wanting to mend this relationship as best he can, how can he say anything other than, “It’s okay now. And I’m sorry for how I acted too. I was way too pushy. I’ve been meaning to apologize for a while, but…”

“ _You don’t have to apologize. I said some really messed up things that I didn’t mean.”_

He figured this and yet a part of him still feared that perhaps his friend had meant it all. Those words that Suga wielded like swords cut deep into places Daichi had already scratched red and raw himself. _“You’ve never had sex with a guy, have you?... To be honest, I find the idea of being with a guy gross… How do you even know you’ll like it?”_ Being a guy who likes guys—it’s always been something of an insecurity. _It’s abnormal. It’s wrong. It’s gross._ He’s had those exact thoughts before. He’s heard those thoughts expressed from the mouths of family members.

It was always a struggle, until he met Suga, and those vague feelings of “like” coalesced into one, definitive warmth. Things started to make sense to him, and Daichi started accepting himself because there was no way that liking Suga could ever be gross or wrong.

But when did this all become so painful again? He would never hurt Suga like that bastard. Daichi just needs to ensure that his friend knows this, so he asks plainly, “You know that I would never hurt you, right?”

Suga’s voice breaks: _“Of course. Of course I know.”_

“You made it sound like you thought I was like _him_ , like that monster.” Suga doesn’t speak for a full minute, making Daichi worry. He doesn’t want to make Suga cry again. “Suga?”

 _“You’re nothing like him,”_ he finally says. Suga releases a sound that might be a laugh or a snort and his voice fades back into a whisper. _“It’s like I said. You’re nothing like him. You would never…”_

One half of the captain’s brain is dying to ask, _who is ‘he’? Who is it? Who is it, Suga? Who hurt you?_ But judging how that line of questioning has gone in the past, Daichi decides to voice his other concern. “You sound sick. Are you coming down with a cold?”

 _“Uh,”_ Suga responds. _“My nose just kind of hurts right now. But there was something else I wanted to say.”_

“Yeah?”

_“Um.” He sounds like he’s struggling to find the right words. “I want to preface this with again saying that most everything I said that day was a lie…”_

“I know. I know you didn’t mean half of it. I just don’t know why you think you need to lie about how you feel,” Daichi says, pausing for breath while Suga coughs as if in preparation to speak. He doesn’t, so Daichi continues, “If you don’t feel well, whether physically or mentally, then you should tell someone. We’re all just worried about you, you know?”

_“Well, Daichi, that’s—Uh, the thing I really meant was—it was more about—”_

“You can say anything, Suga, for real this time,” Daichi says. “I’m mentally prepared, so go for it.”

 _“I lied before,”_ Suga repeats. He takes in a deep breath. _“I-I think I like you, Daichi.”_

He almost chokes on his own spit.

“P-pardon?” He’s not really comprehending and he’s too scared to let himself hope that he’s hearing Suga correctly. It must be a misunderstanding. He must be hearing what he wants to hear, because there’s no way that the silver-haired boy likes him back. There’s no way, so Suga must mean as a friend, right?

 _“I like you,”_ the setter says, tone matter-of-fact. _“I mean, I shouldn’t have said any of that insensitive stuff, but I was scared and wanted to keep you at a distance, I think.”_

“Scared?” Daichi finds himself unable to speak in full sentences. He’s still thinking, _there’s no way_.

 _“Not of you,”_ Suga rushes to say. _“Of myself. Of what it means that I can like a guy, or like anyone, in that way after what happened.”_

Processing this, Daichi’s free hand clenches into a fist. Scared of himself? Scared of his feelings? He gets it, even if it’s for nowhere near the same reasons. Except, for the captain, Suga is what brought him clarity, while for Suga, Daichi must be the confusing thing.

“Suga,” Daichi says just because he wants to say the boy’s name. He doesn’t know where to continue from there.

 _“I didn’t want to admit it. I wanted to push all those thoughts and feelings away and in the process, I hurt you… and I’m sorry. I don’t think you’re gross or anything like that.”_ Suga’s voice becomes more thin and the pauses become more frequent as he continues speaking, trying to mask his tiredness. _“I actually think… you’re pretty amazing… And I like you.”_

Even though this is what he’s been wanting for so long—to hear Suga say those words—he’s gripped by a nagging feeling telling him that something is off. _Suga, do you really mean it?_ For example, why now? What catalyzed this confession?

Daichi asks, “You’re not just saying this because you feel bad about the fight?”

 _“Feel bad?”_ A long pause ensues. _“Are you saying you like me because you feel bad about what happened to me?”_

“What? No. I’ve liked you way before that and I will like you way beyond that.” Daichi’s surprised by the laugh that comes through the phone.

Suga says, earnestly, _“Then you know exactly how I feel.”_

“Wow,” Daichi replies. He’s afraid he’ll lose the ability to speak in complete sentences again, so he just says, “Suga, how are you? We haven’t talked really since Sunday.”

 _This feeling._ He doesn’t know how to describe this feeling. Like he’s floating. Like this is all a dream and everything physical, like his desk he’s still leaning against and the floor he’s standing on, aren’t quite there. None of that matters anyways. Because Suga likes him back. He’s sort of embarrassed to smile so wide alone in his bedroom, and with so many heavy things going on. Is that bad? Damn, he sort of wants to laugh too. _I should have said something a long time ago. Suga…_ Suga doesn’t hate him. Suga doesn’t find him gross. Suga _likes_ him?

“Suga?”

He doesn’t answer. Straining to hear anything, a chuckle or sigh or even sniffle, Daichi can’t help but hold his breath but it sounds as if the setter is doing the same. “Hey,” Daichi starts, but breaks off when he hears a gust of wind crackle through the speaker. _Wind like that?_ _That was really loud._ Daichi reflexively glances to his window, eyes locking on the branches swaying in the breeze. “Hey, Suga, are you outside right now?”

The vice-captain hums an unsure response. “Well,” he mumbles. “Well, uh, yes.”

Daichi’s heart drops. “Where are you?”

Silence.

“Suga, where are you right now? Are you okay?”

Silence.

“Suga!”

_“I can’t tell you.”_

He knew something wasn’t right. He knew it! Yet he pushed his worries to the back of his mind and let them be completely eclipsed by Suga’s good news. Suga has to be okay—he needs him to be okay. The setter, so talkative a minute ago, has gone quiet, back to being evasive. Digging up all the calm he has on reserve, Daichi asks, “Why not?”

The silver-haired teen sucks in a breath, holds it for a beat, and whispers, _“Because I don’t know where I am.”_

Does Suga think that if he says it quietly, Daichi will be any less worried?

“What do you mean by that? What happened? Are you hurt?” Daichi’s voice climbs toward hysteria with each word spoken, yet Daichi feels himself falling. _No_ , is the first thing he thinks. _No, he has to be okay_. _It must all be a misunderstanding, but Suga’s not answering and what the hell is going on?_

_You said you would be there for him and you weren’t._

_You weren’t there._

_Because you were too embarrassed to approach him._

_You promised you would protect him._

_If he’s hurt, you’re to blame._

Suga says _, “I don’t know where I am exactly. I’m somewhere on the mountain.”_

If Daichi thought he couldn’t become any more worried, he was wrong. He stands up straight, body suddenly strung tight. He doesn’t know where to begin. What the hell is he doing on the mountain? Why wasn’t that the first thing Suga said? Was he planning on not saying anything at all, or was he waiting to see if Daichi was still mad? The dark-haired boy tries to make sense of it on his own but it just doesn’t.

“What happened?” _I said I was going to be there and I wasn’t. I said I wouldn’t let anything else happen to you and I failed. Did I even try?_ “Suga?” he almost shouts when he gets no response.

_“Just—he took me up here, but it’s dark and I can’t really tell—”_

Daichi grabs for his coat and shoes. “Suga, I’m on my way.”

He has to go to Suga. Alone, probably hurt, cold—Suga needs help but refuses to ask for it. Maybe Suga thinks he’s burdening Daichi, but knowing that his friend is out there and hurt is what really bothers him. He knows it’s too late. He knows he’s too late to swoop in and save Suga like a knight in shining armor the way it always happens in the movies. Daichi curses himself as he pulls on his jacket and crosses the living room.

He foolishly made a promise he couldn’t keep. He didn’t know anything. He didn’t know who he was supposed to be protecting Suga from, or what times he should be most vigilant, or anything, yet he actually did think he could do it. _Naïve. Arrogant_. And he thought that everything between himself and Suga would work itself out naturally. He can’t believe how wrong and stupid he’s been. Regret slithers around his windpipe, threatening to suffocate him.

The setter splutters, _“I-I told you, I don’t know where—”_

“I’ll find you.” _Damn it, I’ll find you if it’s the last thing I do. I can’t break this promise. I can’t break this promise._

_This one, this time, I’ll see it through._

“Daichi!” his mother yells, running out on the front porch to call to her son who’s already taken to the street. “Where are you going at this hour! Get back inside this instant!” She’s silhouetted by the light from inside, so when Daichi glances back to call out a hasty apology, he can’t see her face properly.

The captain runs. He runs, half hopping as he attempts to put on his right shoe, pavement cold under the sole of his other foot. “I’m coming for you,” he tells a protesting Suga. The streets are quiet and empty, making it feel like a dreamscape, like maybe this is all in his head and he’ll wake up any second. Still, the moonlight seems menacing in the way that it wraps around his body. Cold.

 _“I’m sorry, Daichi,”_ Suga says.

“Call the police,” Daichi responds. “Hang up with me and call the police.”

_“What? No, no. No.”_

“If you’re hurt you need to call the police.”

 _“Daichi, please don’t hang up,”_ Suga says. _“I don’t want a bunch of strangers seeing me like this. And I’m a minor, so they’ll call my parents and I don’t know how to look at them, you know. Besides, I barely get any signal out here. I’m surprised this call went through. I don’t know what will happen if I hang up and try to make another call, or even if I move from this spot.”_

“What?” Daichi says, trying to take in all of Suga’s excuses. “If that’s the case, then this call could drop any moment. You should take the chance. And don’t worry about what your parents will think. I can’t imagine them reacting badly.”

_“What am I supposed to say to the police? ‘I got in a car with a rapist and he raped me.’ I can only imagine how they’d react. ‘Wow, how stupid can this kid be? Somebody that stupid deserved what he got.’ And I’m a guy at that! They probably won’t even believe me.”_

“Suga,” Daichi pleads, trying to keep his voice from cracking and scrunching his eyes against the confirmation of the fact he had known since the silver-haired boy had said, ‘He took me up here.’ He can’t tell whether Suga is more afraid of someone believing or not believing him. Still, going to the authorities has to be the best option, right? So, he says again, “Please, call them.”

 _“You don’t have to do this.”_ Suga pauses, his voice sounding whispery thin and tired again. _“You’re my best friend. And I know you like me. I know you care. So, you don’t have anything to prove. No one will think any less of you if you just stay home.”_

“How could you say that? How—”

Suga interrupts him. _“I just wanted to hear your voice.”_

Under any other circumstance, those words would have caused an ecstatic blush, but right now they sound like he’s giving up. Part of Daichi wants to retract his statements, because what if by granting Suga this comfort he’s given permission for Suga to let go? Does Suga want to let go? If he’s still searching will he want to hold on more? Daichi slows to a trot in front of Asahi’s house.

“Don’t give up yet, Suga. I’m not, so you better not.” He climbs the stairs to the front door panting. Banging on the door, arm growing stiff from holding his cell phone, he leans against the wall and tries to catch his breath. Karasuno’s ace answers the door looking stricken, an expression that quickly morphs into indignation when he notices Daichi there.

“Why are you knocking like that? It’s kind of late for—”

“We need you and your car,” Daichi cuts in quickly, straightening and wiping the blossoming beads of sweat from his forehead.

“What?” Asahi asks, bewildered. “What’s going on?”

_“You went to Asahi’s?”_

“Suga’s in trouble,” Daichi says. “We have to hurry.”

He waits on the porch, swallowing the worst of his worry as Asahi grasps the severity of situation and rushes inside with a stressed look. Daichi isn’t sure what Asahi saw painted across his face, but it’s enough to have the ace back outside in under two minutes, and then both teens are flying down the front stairs and toward the car.

“Your shoes are on the wrong feet,” Asahi mentions in an off-hand way as they both slide into their seats and buckle their seatbelts. Daichi glances but doesn’t bother to move to correct it.

“Can we let Asahi know?” Daichi poses to Suga. He’s not sure how the setter will react to this suggestion. They can’t leave Asahi completely in the dark though, after this favor, and especially if Suga is hurt. Asahi will want to know because he cares too.

“Where are we headed?” Asahi follows up with his own question.

_“Yes.”_

“North. The mountain.” Then, to Suga: “What condition are we going to find you in?”

Suga chokes on a sob that plunges into Daichi’s chest like a dagger. _“It’s really bad. Daichi, you don’t have to…do this for me.”_

Asahi throws an alarmed glance toward the passenger seat. _Breathe, Daichi. You can’t waver now when he needs you_. Talk of who likes whom seems meaningless now as they speed down the road leading out of town, houses whipping by outside the window. _My words mean nothing if I can’t even do this. Fuck ‘good intentions’ right now; I’m going to get results_. There isn’t an alternative.

“What’s happening, Daichi?” Asahi asks, fingers curled tightly around the steering wheel. The captain hesitates until Suga says, _“I’m sorry; I can tell him if you want.”_ He coughs lightly.

“Suga’s hurt,” he says, staring at the dashboard and feeling the weight of everything Suga’s told him this evening and that evening last Friday. “He-he was raped.”

“What?” The car jerks but the third year immediately corrects it. He turns his head completely toward Daichi, eyes wide and horrified and boring into the captain’s raised gaze, searching for the truth. His gaze screams, _tell me it’s not true_. Daichi can only return a small nod, feeling his heart beat against his eardrums and his stomach twist nervously.

 _“I didn’t hear a shout of disgust. I think Asahi’s taking it well.”_ Sarcasm laces Suga’s voice. It’s a front though, and the relief hidden beneath is noticeable.

He goes along with his silver-haired friend, saying, “That’s because you can’t see him.”

_“You can tell him whatever you think he needs to know.”_

“How did this happen?” Asahi asks, talking more to himself than the other two, gripping and regripping the steering wheel. “Who would do something like that? Is Suga okay? Oh, god. What—”

“Watch where you’re driving, please,” Daichi warns as the car starts to drift over the middle line. “And it’s going to be okay, because we’re going to get there and help him. All right?”

_“How can you be so sure?”_

Daichi’s eyes narrow. “Don’t start with me, Suga.” He pauses and sighs. Not wanting another fight, especially at a time like this, he reigns in his teeming emotions and tries for logic. “I have help this time, so we’ll make it there. Just, do you remember anything about how you go there? Like how long it took or what direction you were driven?”

 _“I know it was the first turn off outside of town, but other than that, I don’t know. I—”_ Suga stops midsentence. A gust of wind whips through the phone loudly and Daichi winces. _“I wasn’t really paying attention. I’m sorry.”_

Switching his phone to the other hand, Daichi relays the information to Asahi and then says, “Suga?”

_“Hmm?”_

“Stop apologizing.” He lays his head against the passenger’s window. “None of this is your fault.”

Suga only breathes for a minute, maybe two, and the other teen waits, quiet also. The boy on the mountain sighs heavily, which only devolves into a coughing fit and then turns into a few feeble chuckles. _“You don’t know what happened,”_ he says finally. His breathing is unsteady as he says this. _“I think it is kind of my fault. I shouldn’t have let him get into my head. I basically let him put me in his car.”_

Again. Daichi can’t believe this is happening again. And this time Suga was being raped while the rest of them were happily at practice like everything was normal. Is that what happened the first time? To think that someone could go through so much suffering alone and the world just spins on without a care. And now?

He still doesn’t know what to do.

When they finally make the first turn Suga mentioned, he feels a wave of relief, as if passing a benchmark in a game. They’re one step closer even though the hardest part is ahead of them. _We’re going to find him._ He’s resolved himself to search all night if he must.

“You were scared, weren’t you? He’s scary, right?” Daichi says. He wishes Suga would just believe him when he tells him that it’s not his fault. “It’s not like you wanted this to happen.”

A pregnant silence is followed by the sound of muffled crying. The sobs are spaced out and deep, interrupted occasionally but a cough or a groan. It takes Daichi off guard. _This isn’t what I wanted. This—I said I wasn’t going to make him cry again._ Guilt weighs the captain down in his seat as he tries to make comforting noises to calm the vice-captain. Suga crying like this when they’re separated by miles and miles of mountain—knowing that there’s nothing Daichi can do to help him but offer up warm words—is the worst.

“Is he crying?” Asahi whispers, glancing at the phone in Daichi’s hand.

He nods, at a loss.

Asahi nods back and steps on the gas pedal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -so, I blinked and February was over, anybody else?  
> -I had to name this chapter after The Maine's new song because I've been listening to it nonstop today and it makes me think of my version of Daichi  
> -so yeah, chapter nine happened, finally


	10. Left

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -remember those "random" headcanons in chapt 6? Well, one of them was born out of the need to make a certain scene in this chapter not seem like a bullshit plot contrivance (fun fact), though it probably still does...

_“The area’s a clearing,”_ Suga says through sniffles. _“There’s picnic tables around. I can’t see much else.”_

“A clearing, picnic tables…” Daichi repeats, looking to Asahi hopefully, but the tall ace just shakes his head lost in thought.

“There are plenty of places like that,” Asahi muses. Both spikers used to go camping and fishing with their families here, so both are relatively familiar with the mountain. Asahi’s slightly more knowledgeable about the roads and campsites because it’s been at least six years since Daichi has been up here. “Is there anything else?”

“I’m putting you on speaker,” Daichi responds, placing his phone in a cup holder between Asahi and himself. “Maybe there’s a sign or something.”

 _“I don’t know. I’ll see. Just hang on a minute,”_ Suga says. There’s a sound like something being dragged along the ground, which scares the spiker until he realizes that it’s Suga himself, that he must be crawling. His breathing turns labored after only a minute and Daichi can’t help but want to step in.

“Don’t strain yourself,” he says. “It’s okay if you can’t find anything.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Asahi adds.

 _“It’s fine guys. I can at least…do this.”_ Suga keeps moving, and even after crying out several times, he doesn’t stop. The pain doesn’t deter him. _“I don’t trust myself on my feet right now. It’s a long way to the ground if I trip on something or get dizzy or anything like that. That’s why,”_ Suga grinds out, half talking to himself, _“it has to be like this.”_

“You sound like you’re in pain.” Daichi just wants him to stop, wants everything to stop. He wants time to halt so that they can get there before Suga gets more injured. He wants to finally put to rest this fear in his own heart. Yet, he knows this situation is not a song to pause. It’s not a difficult level to be tried again after ‘game over.’ Daichi shudders and tries not to let himself truly think about what a ‘game over’ situation would look like in real life.

Despite his efforts, he can’t stop imagining the worst things. Images of the silver-haired teen crying and scared. Being hit. Being stripped. Hands on the setter’s body, and—damn it, Daichi doesn’t want this in his head. Why does he have to imagine this right now, when he’s talking to Suga?

 _“It sounds worse than it is,”_ Suga says. His voice then takes on a different quality, one closer to awe. It’s rushed and muddled with hope. _“There’s a lake. I see a lake. It’s dark but I can see the bank below me and the way the stars and moon reflect in the water.”_

Asahi glances at the phone and then quickly back to the road, brow furrowing minutely. He says, evenly, “There are two large ponds on this mountain. It would make sense that there would be picnic tables and an open are for cars to park.”

 _“That’s good right?”_ Suga jumps in. _“It narrows down where I can be.”_

 _Yes,_ is the answer he’s looking for. _Great, problem solved, we know where you are._ But Asahi remains quiet, Daichi falls into a memory from when he was twelve. It comes to him in flashes. _He sat in the backseat staring down at his knees. It was still dark, not even dawn, but already too warm and stuffy._

_‘You have to make a decision.’_

_He internally scoffed, but didn’t dare show his displeasure on his face._ I don’t care _, he wanted to shout_. I don’t care. I never wanted to come here in the first place. This has been your idea from the start. I’d rather be sleeping. I’d rather be doing anything else. I’d rather not _—‘Daichi, are you listening? You’d better not be ignoring your father.’_

_Daichi sat up straighter to look at the back of his dad’s head, fishing poles clanking together in his grasp. The box of bait was on the floor between his shoes. He kept his mouth sealed tightly. His father would always turn the littlest, most inconsequential things into a lecture._

_‘It’s not that hard. You have about one minute. Left or right?’_

Coming back to the present and suddenly remembering, Daichi asks, “Doesn’t the road fork up here? Aren’t the ponds on opposite sides of the mountain?”

Asahi’s expression doesn’t slip as he nods, and Daichi realizes that he must have known this from the moment Suga said “lake.” He knew they were going to have to decide which area to search first. Miles lie between the two ponds, if Daichi remembers correctly, so if they head in the wrong direction, righting their mistake would take a while.

 _“Oh,”_ Suga murmurs, realizing too. _“And you guys don’t know what side of the pond I’m on.”_

“If we can figure out which pond first, then it won’t be difficult,” Daichi assures. _We only have a few minutes until we have to decide_. Thinking back to the memory, it was the last time he’d been up here. _My father never brought me again because of what I did._ Trying to hold onto some semblance of optimism for his uncharacteristically quiet friends, he fills the silence. “We’re already closer than we were ten minutes ago. You guys shouldn’t feel so dejected when we’ve already made this much progress.”

However, in less than five minutes, they reach the fork in the road and Asahi brings the car to a stop, flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. Both paths look the same, pavement giving way to dirt and gravel, trees sweeping in to line the edges and shade the road more completely. The captain turns to look at Asahi, really look at him for the first time this evening, and can see by the soft glow of the interior lights just how scared he looks. His eyebrows are knitted together with stress, eyes muddled with worry and fear. Sweat drips down his forehead.

“Let’s go right,” Daichi says quietly, ignoring the dryness of his mouth.

“But what if that’s the wrong way?” Asahi bursts after a moment’s hesitation, voicing all of their fears. “What if we waste all that time searching there when he’s really on the other side of the mountain?”

“We can’t stay here,” Daichi says. _‘You have to make a decision.’_ He gains more momentum in his voice, believing the taste of his own bravado. He was scared about this choice too, and was thinking the same thing, so he knows where Asahi’s coming from, but they can’t stop now. “There’s a fifty-fifty chance that we’ll get it right. We could be on our way to Suga right now.”

“Or we could be driving further away from him! And wasting gas that we really can’t afford to lose.” He points to the gas gauge which lies flush with the quarter tank mark. _That’d be a terrible scenario._ Stranded themselves, they’d have no choice but to call their parents and then nothing will be contained—not to mention how long it would delay their search. It’d be bad, but..

But—

“We have to take that chance! We won’t accomplish anything by waiting here. We can’t accomplish anything by standing still!” the captain declares passionately. “We’re not stopping! I’m not giving up now!”

The ace, cowed by Daichi’s words, shifts the car into first gear. He murmurs, “We don’t really have a choice, do we?”

They drive to the right, gradually picking up speed, no response needed. _They have to keep moving_.

_He had said ‘left’ that day with his father. They had taken the road up to the pond to fish at their usual spot. He yawned. Positioned at the edge of the pond, Daichi and his father cast their lines into the water. He yawned._

_They made sleepy conversation, the boy dancing back and forth on tired legs and cursing everything. After an hour passed, they had almost nothing to show for it and Daichi’s patience had grown thinner while his father had grown more vocal. He just remembered that his dad kept picking at him. About his grades and his friends—and why did he want to play volleyball of all sports, and why wasn’t he helping out more at his uncle’s restaurant? No small moment or insecurity was safe, and at the time Daichi remembered feeling like there was nothing worse than these weekend outings with his father._

_‘If you don’t want to give your all in school then you need to work hard. I won’t have a son that’s stupid and lazy.’_

I want to be anywhere else. _But he had no escape._

_‘The way you’re going, no girl will look your way. Do you want to end up alone?’_

Like, who cares? Who cares about any of that? Because I don’t fucking care. Just shut up!

_Except he said all of that out loud and threw his fishing pole to the ground, breaking a piece off of it. Just when he realized that he probably shouldn’t have said what he did, he felt the sting of his father’s palm against his cheek, and his head turned with the slap and water rising to his eyes._

_‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that again,’ his father growled. ‘You hear me, Daichi?’_

“Daichi?” Asahi laughs nervously. “So, you were making that face a minute ago.”

“What face?” _It was a fifty-fifty chance, but the only reason I chose ‘right’ was because I didn’t want to go back to our old fishing spot_. To think two years’ worth of Sunday mornings were spent there.

“Your ‘I’m the captain and I’m super pissed that you’re not doing what I tell you’ face. It’s terrifying.”

“I’m sorry,” Daichi replies. “For asking you to do this and pulling you into all this with barely any explanation.” They exchange a look of understanding, and then he leans forward a little, shaking off the memory. “Suga, how are you doing?”

No response.

“Suga?” Asahi asks, alarmed.

Listening closely, Daichi is sure he can hear Suga’s breathing. Did the setter fall asleep? He doesn’t know exactly how badly Suga is hurt, but his friend had said it was pretty bad so doesn’t that mean that it’s bad to fall asleep? Or is that only for a concussion? What if he does have a concussion? Daichi calls Suga’s name again.

 _“I’m okay,”_ comes the boy’s quiet voice from the other side.

“You scared us,” Asahi sighs.

The trees that grew so close to the road disperse as they drive on. It hasn’t been long, and yet, he’s already sick of the miles of terrain that separates them. Before the spikers run out of fuel and before it gets any colder, they have to find Suga.

 _“Sorry,”_ Suga says, breathless. It seems to be getting more difficult to talk, yet despite that, he still tries to laugh it off. _“I was looking up at the stars and dozed off.”_

Daichi sighs. “Don’t fall asleep on us. Whatever you do, try to stay awake. I’m—”

“That’s it!” Asahi suddenly bursts. “Suga, you said you were watching the stars? You can see the sky clearly from where you are?”

 _“Yes, I have a better view where I am now.”_ Then Suga asks, hesitantly, _“What do you have in mind?”_

“People used to navigate by stars all the time,” Asahi responds.

Daichi’s jaw drops. _Navigate by stars? Do people even do that anymore?_ Suddenly a couple of teenagers in a car just turned into seventeenth century ship captains. Daichi peers past the glare of his window and out into the sky that’s with the sparkling orbs, like jewelry. Can they really find Suga like that?

_“Asahi, you really surprise me sometimes.”_

“I agree,” Daichi says, punching his friend on the arm. _We can do this._

“I’ll need your help though, both of you. We don’t have any fancy instruments, so we’ll have to make do. Daichi, you should find paper and a pen in the glove compartment.” Asahi takes a breath. “Suga, can you sit with the pond to your left?”

There’s shuffling on both ends. Daichi says, “Got it” right before Suga replies with, _“Okay.”_

“So, Daichi, draw Suga at the center of the page and mark the pond on his left.”

Daichi focuses on the paper in his hand, trying to draw straight while the car bumps along through potholes and rocks. Several times, the pen pokes through the paper, and Daichi curses under his breath, but it doesn’t stop his heart from racing with the anticipation of having an actual plan to follow. If only they had thought of this sooner.

“Remember the planetarium show, Suga?” Asahi asks. “If not, I can describe everything to you. But, let’s start with the moon because it’s the easiest. Where is it compared to you? On your left, right, in front of you, or behind? And how close does it seem?”

 _“Left. And in front I guess.”_ Suga takes his time to continue. _“I think it’s sort of close? Closer than farther, if that makes sense.”_

“Got that?”

Daichi nods and says, “Yeah,” scanning the sky through the front windshield this time.

“The road curves back and forth so much, Daichi, it’s impossible to tell just yet,” Asahi informs him calmly, reading his mind. “We haven’t gone far enough. Each pond is on a different side of the mountain, so once we get a little closer and we map a few more things, we’ll be able to see how things match up.”

“Okay, Suga. How about Polaris, the North Star? It will be the brightest in the sky.”

The ace goes on to name and describe constellations, Suga describes their locations when he can, and Daichi transcribes that to the map. _Orion’s Belt? Ursa Minor, The Little Bear? Yeah, I know it doesn’t really look like a bear._ All the while Asahi glances between the map and the sky outside, driving the fastest he can on the straight stretches, only slowing on the turns. During the pauses when he’s not scribbling down Suga’s answers, he glances at the long-haired spiker in admiration. When had Asahi gotten so damn dependable?

The temperature in the car seems to rise as the minutes rush by and the piece of paper gets more cluttered. The captain grows more and more antsy, but tries keep up a collected exterior.

When Asahi slams on the breaks, sending Daichi flying against the seatbelt, he grabs the homemade map, rolls down his window, and sticks his entire upper body out. His head flicks back and forth between the paper in his hand and the glittering canvas above so quickly it looks as if his neck will snap off.

Daichi’s heart thuds loudly against his ear drums, while Suga asks, _“What is it?”_

“It’s not this one,” Asahi murmurs, falling back into his seat and preparing to execute a U-turn on this narrow road. Eyes wide, he says, with more urgency. “It’s not this one. It’s the other one.”

“Really? How sure are you?”

“Pretty sure,” Asahi replies.

The captain stares at Asahi incredulously. “ _Pretty_ sure? It’s _right_ there. We can’t turn back if we’re not entirely sure that Suga’s not up there. Do you know how long it will take to come back if we’re wrong?”

“He’s not there. It terrifies me too, being wrong. But didn’t you say earlier that we have to make a choice, take a chance?” Asahi asks, halfway through the turn. “That was a blind choice we made, but now the stars are telling me—my gut is telling me—that he’s not here. True, I’m not one hundred percent sure, there’s room for error, but… Please trust me, Daichi, Suga.”

 _“I trust you,”_ Suga whispers. Daichi blinks and then nods.

Their ace is asking them to trust him, and how many times have they relied on him, as their final line of defense, as their last hope? And now, with that familiar determination burning in his eyes, how can they not? Asahi presses his palm against the horn and holds it there for five seconds. The sound is loud and resounds in the captain’s ears even after Asahi’s hand has lifted away.

“Did you hear anything on your end, Suga?”

 _“Ha,”_ Suga says. _“No. Only silence here. Ha ha ha.”_

Asahi turns to Daichi, looking alarmed at the sound of Suga’s slurred words and breathy laughter, so feeble and out of place. He’s pretty sure that his own expression mirrors Asahi’s, so he nods again—because that seems about all the communication they need between them right now—and Asahi takes off fast, traveling back down the road like a rollercoaster.

“We’re on our way, Suga.”

Suga’s sniffling grows louder. _“Thank you so much. I never thought… Everything you’ve done… I don’t deserve it.”_

“Of course you do,” Asahi replies immediately. “You’ve always been there when any of us had troubles. You always lent your ear and your time.”

The setter just breathes. They all just breathe for a moment. Then, out of the blue, Asahi declares that he’s going to call an ambulance and to Daichi’s surprise, Suga says that he doesn’t care. The setter sounds completely worn out and would probably agree to anything his friends posed to him.

Daichi says, tentatively, “Earlier you were so opposed. I’m glad you changed your mind.”

 _“Was I?”_ Suga asks. He sounds momentarily confused and then seems to lose interest in his question and follows up with a tired _“Oh. Ha ha. I guess… I guess it’s okay.”_

 “You must be cold and hungry and hurt. We should have brought you something—”

 _“I’m not cold,”_ Suga whispers. _“I’m not cold anymore…so it’s okay.”_

“That’s…” Asahi starts.

Daichi meets his distressed gaze for a second. “That’s not good, Suga.” If Suga isn’t feeling cold does that mean that he’s lost feeling in his extremities, or maybe his mind is so far removed from his current situation? Could he get hypothermia? It’s so warm in the car that Daichi’s unsure what it feels like outside right now. Earlier, he was scared to think about what a ‘game over’ situation would look like in real life—now this is getting too close for comfort. He tells Suga, “You have to stay awake and keep talking to us.”

_“I’m…at four percent.”_

“What?”

_“My phone’s at four percent… It’s…gonna die.”_

“Okay,” Daichi says, trying to sound calm. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ “Okay, Suga. It’s going to be okay.”

 _“Maybe…”_ Suga says. _“I’m…at four percent too…you know?”_

As if they weren’t already feeling the time pressure. “No, we’re going to find you before then, okay?” the captain reassures. This hurts. Hearing Suga’s voice like this hurts. The vice-captain can barely string a sentence together.

Again, Daichi recalls that same memory from his childhood, that memory he can’t seem to shake right now, because everything—from this road to the darkness to his sense of dread—is reminiscent. Except now he understands that things have the potential to get so much worse.

“Promise me,” he all but begs, “that you won’t give up even if you’re phone dies, because we’re still coming for you. Promise me.”

 _“I have to…pee again,”_ Suga mumbles to himself. _“Too tired.”_

“I’m calling now,” Asahi states. “We should get there first. But they should be right behind us.”

Daichi picks up the phone from the cup holder and disables speaker phone. He can hear the beginning of Asahi’s conversation with the emergency responders, the ace sounding more desperate than he had previously. Was he trying to keep up a calm front for Suga’s sake?

“Are you listening? Are you still there?”

 _“Yeah. No,”_ Suga says slowly. _“I don’t…know where…I am, remember? You’re the one not…listening.”_ That half-hearted laugh again.

“Suga,” Daichi says. “You have to stay awake as long as you can, okay? We can’t have anything more to happen to you. We…we’re playing Nekoma next weekend, so we need you with us to beat them. And…the season finale of ‘King of Basketball’ is this Sunday. You can’t miss that. And you’ll worry your mom and dad. Me too. I—”

 _“I like…your voice…Dai…chi,”_ Suga murmurs.

 _Don’t say that at a time like this!_ “Suga, please, I—”

The dial tone interrupts Daichi’s words. Pulling the phone away from his ear, he stares at the end screen in horror and tries desperately to call the setter back, but it goes straight to voicemail. That’s when he notices seven missed calls from his mom and two missed calls from Suga’s dad. It’s late and they must be worried that their sons haven’t come home. He’s dreading having to face his mother again after running off earlier. At least the hospital will notify Suga’s family so Daichi doesn’t have to explain—or should he call? He can’t bring himself to.

Asahi’s still explaining things over the phone, and it sounds as if they keep asking him the same questions over and over again. He grows more exasperated by the minute until, finally, he all but roars, “I already told you that. Just get here!” Daichi wants to yell too. He wants throw his phone onto the floorboard. His skin is tingling with the urge to just lose it. But something about watching the anger and frustration play out in Asahi’s expression sobers him. Someone has to have a cool head.

Daichi asks, “Are they coming?”

“They have to.”

“How are we doing on gas?”

“I think we’ll make it. But it won’t get us back down.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“You’re asking me? Are you?”

“I will be, once we find him.”

Asahi starts to speak but cuts himself off before he can get anything out. Chewing on his lip, he hums to himself softly and thrums his fingers on the steering wheel again, features grim and tense with unspoken words. His eyes scan the road ahead and surrounding area for deer. After a few minutes, he says, “This isn’t the first time, is it?”

Daichi clutches his phone harder thinking back to that time in the playground when Suga had first told him. _‘It happened two weeks ago,’ Suga had said. ‘He made me use my mouth,’ Suga said. ‘I feel so dirty… It’s all I can think about… I miss the old me.’_ Daichi shakes away the memories. He replies, “No. It’s not.”

“Is someone stalking him?”

“I don’t know. He won’t tell me anything about the person who did this.”

“Really?” Asahi asks. “Do you think that it’s someone we know?”

Daichi turns in his seat to face the ace fully. “It’s got to be, right? Someone from school or someone from the neighborhood. And he must have threatened him with something really bad for Suga not to say anything at all.” Maybe he can bounce his theories off of Asahi to see if he’s crazy and overstepping, or maybe on the right track. He hasn’t let himself ponder what to do with the information if he obtains it, because Suga obviously doesn’t want to do anything. But at least he’d know. Then, maybe he could protect his friends.

“That’s a good point.” Asahi breathes heavily. “Still, I can’t believe he’s been pretending everything’s fine all this time. I can’t imagine—That sounds so hard.”

“Yeah.”

***

The car runs out of gas just before the end of the road. The headlights catch on the shiny metal surface of a bike in the middle of a large, open area several dozen paces ahead, a few picnic tables also illuminated while the rest of the scene masked in darkness. Leaving the car running, the two boys step out and shiver in unison. They can see their breath in front of them. The yellow lighting, the swaying branches overhead, and the sheer silence of being removed from civilization. It’s creepy.

They start down the road, eyes peeled for the silver-haired boy. A bag—Suga’s schoolbag—lies on its side, its contents half spilled out in the dirt. Asahi approaches it slowly and crouches down.

“Suga?” Daichi calls out, the setter’s name getting stuck in his throat. He tries a second time. “Suga! Suga, can you hear me?” Looking around, Daichi’s gaze lights on more of Suga’s belongings—a shirt, a coat—strewn about. Stepping around a puddle of puke, he shouts again.

“There’s blood here,” Asahi says quietly. And then he stands and starts off toward the trees, following the trail of crimson. The captain follows at a jog, heart beating a mile a minute, using the flashlight on his phone to guide them. The trees become smaller and sparser as the ground slopes down. Daichi thinks he catches a glimpse of the pond through the branches and is staring at the surface when he runs into Asahi’s back.

“What…?” Fear causing the light to shake, Daichi follows Asahi’s line of sight.

“Daichi, I can’t,” Asahi gasps, taking several steps back, voice muffled by his own hand covering his mouth. “You have to—I’m sorry, I can’t…”

Daichi nods vaguely, hearing the sound of Asahi retching as if he’s underwater. He understands the ace’s terror.

_Suga._

The boy’s body is curled into the fetal position, hands tied together with some kind of cloth, with only one sock on. His skin is pale as can be, each mark on his body as stark and noticeable as writing on a dry erase board. Red-purple bruises, blue-tinged fingertips, brown dirt clinging to his forearms and knees, red blood. A lot of blood. Swallowing, Daichi lowers himself to kneel beside the setter, noticing many more, smaller scratches and bruises. With eyes closed, he stretches a hand out to Suga’s face, having already winced at how crooked and obviously broken his friend’s nose is, only opening his eyes when he feels Suga exhale and knows the boy is breathing. His shoulders sag.

“He’s alive,” he calls to Asahi. _He’s alive. He’s…_

Daichi first tries to untie Suga’s wrists, but his fingers shake too much and the knot is tied so tightly he can’t get it undone. He only ends up cursing and trembling even more. _Cold, he’s so cold._ He fumbles with his jacket and covers the setter’s middle. Scooping Suga’s hands into his own, he blows on them, ignoring the encrusted dirt and dried vomit. _His feet. His ears, his nose._ Daichi doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how badly Suga is hurt—does he have any broken bones?—so moving him is out of the question, even though the warmth of the car seems promising. It now feels miles away.

“Asahi. Bring me Suga’s coat and whatever clothes are over there. We need to get him warm.” And then quietly, to the vice-captain, “Suga? Suga. Hey, we’re here. Okay, Suga. Just hang on a little bit more.” He pulls Suga’s upper body carefully into his lap, holding him closely and rambling. “I’m sorry, Suga. I know you probably don’t want to be touched right now, but it’s cold out. It’s pretty cold. When we go for our practice match I hope it’s not this cold, especially leaving so early in the morning. I mean…”

“These are the only things I could find,” Asahi says, handing over the coat and shirt without looking directly at Suga’s unconscious form. “He didn’t have his practice stuff, so… And I couldn’t find his pants or anything. How is he?”

Doing his best to cover the exposed parts of Suga’s body with the clothes while not jostling the boy too much, Daichi says, “I don’t know. I really don’t know.”

“The ambulance should be here soon.”

“That’s good,” Daichi hears himself respond. He stares at Suga’s bloodstained face, wanting to wipe away the mess but not wanting to cause him any more pain. Asahi says something about going to wait by the road and the captain nods.

He doesn’t know how long they wait. It’s hard to distinguish lengths of time when everything is so motionless and quiet. He counts Suga’s breaths. He counts his own. He stays statue still, even when his legs start to go numb and a strong gust of wind brings tears to his eyes. Suga was right; the stars are much brighter here.

Then, Asahi’s shouts of “over here!” break through the silence, and before Daichi can question anything, flashing red lights are dancing across the trees and the ground. Tires are crunching across gravel. Car doors slam, unfamiliar voices join the mix, and then Asahi again: “This way!”

The paramedics circle the pair, bringing a stretcher and various medical instruments. They check Suga’s pulse and his eyes, examining his hands and taking his temperature, all while firing question after question at Daichi, most of which he doesn’t have an answer to. Someone cuts the neck tie around Suga’s wrists, revealing the chafed and bleeding skin beneath. Daichi moves aside and they lift the vice-captain onto the stretcher and proceed to carry him to the ambulance.

“Are you riding to the hospital with us?”

Both teens nod. “Yes. Thank you.”

Asahi rides up front, while Daichi joins the group in the back. There’s a lot of movement, but none of it is frantic or rushed, and every one of the paramedics projects an aura of calm that allows the captain to sit back in his seat. _They’re professionals. They’re going to help us._ When the back doors are shut firmly and the rumble of the engine reverberates through the vehicle, Daichi sighs. He’s so glad to get off this fucking mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -though this chapter may seem unassuming, there's some foreshadowing and other set up of things to come.  
> -next chapter, hmm, probably shouldn't say anything...  
> -Also, I too am glad to get off that fucking mountain and move on from what happened there. Finally a change of scenery.


	11. 村

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***TRIGGER WARNINGS: ATTEMPTED SUICIDE, suicidal thoughts, self-hate***  
> -I swear on the safety of my laptop that this is the last time I torture Suga

He wakes up warm. The pillow is fluffy and the blanket pulled up to his chin is thick, keeping the heat close to his body. His body hurts. When he shifts into a sitting position, he notices the wires connected to him and opens his eyes fully, seeing a sterile hospital room. There are tubes in his nose. His wrists are bandaged. Though his hands are clean of the blood and vomit, dirt still lingers in the crevices of his fingernails. It’s the case with the rest of his body—he feels cleaner, but not truly clean.

Suga doesn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembers was talking to Asahi about calling an ambulance. _Maybe something about my phone dying? Was it Daichi and Asahi who found me first? Do my parents know?_ Trying to sit up, he throws his gaze around the empty room.

It seems his secret can’t be a secret much longer. Stomach swirling at the thought, Suga wishes that he could stop thinking altogether. If he sleeps, then he doesn’t have to worry about explaining this to his family. He doesn’t have to remember any of what happened either.

Like that feeling of pleasure that wracked his body and blacked out his mind. It was so intense. He really doesn’t want to think about it, but he must be pretty fucked up to climax while being raped and after being hit like he was. How could that feel good? Is he a masochist? What if it means that he’s like Nakamura, or will be someday? Suga’s heart beats heavily in his chest, the sound resounding against his eardrums and sticking in his throat. Being like Nakamura is something he can’t live with.

Suga just wants to sleep and not think about any of it, and if he doesn’t wake up, then that doesn’t sound too bad either.

Just then, a nurse pops her head into the room and straightens when she sees him awake, plastering a smile onto her face and striding quickly to his bedside. She takes his vitals and asks him how he’s feeling. There’s too much movement and too many words for him to keep up, but then she says something about his mom and Suga finally looks at her.

“Do they know?” he asks, voice thick and nasally due to his injury.

The nurse stills for a second while taking down her notes, and then she smiles again when she looks up. “Yes. Both of your parents were informed of your condition. I’ll go get them now.”

She’s quick to leave. Is this how it’s going to be? _Is my presence, my mere existence, going to make everyone uncomfortable?_ This is why he wanted to keep it a secret. _I’m a walking offense. Just by being here, I’m bringing more than just my family down. I shouldn’t…_ He gazes down at his hands not even bothering to try to stop his thoughts from spiraling deeper and deeper into self-hate.

“Kou-chan!”

Suga looks up from studying his fingernails at his mother’s voice. The sound makes tears spring to his eyes, and then she’s upon him, not hugging him fully, which he’s grateful for, but lightly holding his shoulders. She brings a hand up to his cheek.

“Kou-chan, Kou-chan,” she says, eyes boring into his, and it feels like they’re seeing everything. “I’m so sorry. I love you so much, and I’m so sorry.”

Suga can’t speak. He’s rendered mute, everything swirling in his head at once, but nothing taking the shape of words. Suga becomes hyperaware of how he’s so quiet, which only makes him more self-conscious about disappointing his mom because she always puts so much stock in conversation. His cheeks burn and he feels the intensity of a thousand spotlights trained on him. He has to say something. Anything. If he can’t even greet his mom…

He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until his mother says, alarmed, “Breathe, Koushi. Just breathe. Slowly now.”

Suga lets out a shaky breath and blinks. “Mom,” he cries, face contorting as his bruised and misshapen features move painfully. He’s so glad his mom is here, finally feeling safe. This time she wraps her arms around him fully, whispering consolations soothingly. They stay there like that for a few minutes. Suga sniffles. “Where’s Dad?” he asks, just now noticing that his father isn’t here.

“He’s waiting with your friends until their parents come,” she replies quietly, pulling back. “They’re a little shaken up. And he wanted to thank them for everything they’ve done.”

 _Daichi. Asahi._ “They found me, right?”

His mom smiles tightly. “They sure did.”

“I can’t believe they managed to find me.” It wasn’t until Asahi decided that he knew which pond it was that Suga actually began believing that his rescue was a possibility. He didn’t even know where he was and his friends found him. They’re so amazing. They can do amazing things together.

They don’t really need him.

“Koushi,” his mom starts hesitantly. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Suga feels his expression still and his thoughts slow to a crawl. His throat tightens like someone’s gripping his windpipe. He looks down at his hands, eye contact so hard to keep when he knows she’s expecting a response. It’s silent for a few minutes.

“Can you tell me who did this?” she then asks. She waits again, but again he makes no response.

 _She’s too patient and these silences almost make me want to fill them_.

“Would you let the doctors check you out? If you change your mind about talking later I don’t want you to regret not having been checked out or not having this physical evidence.”

The tone of her voice—almost pleading—gets him to look up. He doesn’t want his mom to sound like that because of him. “I don’t know,” he says. He can’t imagine changing his mind but his mom really wants him to do this. Maybe if he does, she won’t ask him questions anymore. “What should I do?”

“I think it’s best if you let them look you over.”

All right. Heart racing, he nods. He starts to prepare himself mentally. Someone’s going to look at him, at his naked body. A doctor. It can’t be that bad.

***

The rape examination is the most embarrassing and uncomfortable forty minutes of his life. Having a stranger’s eyes on him, hands on him—taking pictures of his face, his wrists, his back. There’s no pretending to forget because when the bruises fade from his body, they’ll still be captured on film forever. The worst day of his life will be immortalized in pictures.

They take swabs and draw blood. They ask him plenty of mortifyingly invasive questions, some of which he lies about and some he doesn’t.

“Have you had any other sexual partners, male or female?”

“No.”

“Has this ever happened before?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did this to you?”

“No.”

“How many times did he rape you?”

“Once.”

 “What—in as much detail as you can remember—was your experience?” Question upon question upon question.  

The nurse scribbles one last thing and then finally sets down her clipboard.  “So,” she starts, voice oozing formality. It sounds as if she’s reciting from a book. “Since a condom wasn’t used, that puts you at risk for sexually transmitted infections. But we can get you antibiotics if you would like.”

Oh. He never considered this. He’d better take the antibiotics because Nakamura admitted to sleeping with prostitutes, so there’s a higher chance probably. It’s been three weeks since the first time so what if he’s had some sort of infection all this time? He hasn’t noticed anything weird, but it’s not like he really knows what to look for.

By the time they take him back to his room, he wonders if the nurse who examined him believes him or thinks he’s lying. She had asked, in that painfully brusque voice, “Did you say ‘no’?”

“Yes.”

“Did you at any time, verbally or otherwise, express that you wanted to have sex?”

He hesitated. He did, but he was made to say it, so surely that doesn’t count. “I don’t think so,” he answered.

 _It doesn’t count_ , he tells himself as his mind replays every _‘I want it’_ that tumbled from his lips, each one draining more out of him. He feels so empty, like everything that makes up who he is has gone—washed away in the shower—and he’s not sure how to get it back. His hands shake uncontrollably.

It’d be nice if they didn’t shake anymore, if they didn’t move at all.

***

Suga’s dad enters the room alone, expression uncomfortable and shoulders stiff. Taking his time approaching the bed, the man’s gaze sweeps around, landing on everything before his son’s face. His eyes are red-rimmed—from crying?—but Suga pretends he doesn’t notice.

“How are you doing?” the man finally asks.  

This is not a time to say, ‘good,’ ‘fine,’ ‘well,’ or respond with any other positive adjective, yet Suga can’t break from habit and ends up saying, “Okay.” The softness of the hospital’s blanket slips through his fingers as he rearranges it in his lap, keeping his features blank. Internally he muses, _I’m lying. I’m such a liar._ Daichi was right that day.

“Your mom said you wouldn’t say anything,” his dad says. “Won’t you talk to us? Won’t you at least tell us what the guy looked like?”

Suga just wants to be done with this line of questioning. Why won’t they just leave him be? He almost sighs. “Why is that the second question you ask? Out of everything, why do you have to ask that?”

“Because the police could be searching for the guy right now. If we knew where to look or who to look for, then everything—”

“Why do you care so much?” The loudness of the setter’s voice makes him cough and then wince. _‘Then everything’ what? Nothing will be the same again. It’s not going to fix me. It’s not going to make everything okay again._

“Why _don’t you?_ ” his dad fires back. “I don’t understand why you won’t say anything. Don’t you want the police to arrest this man?”

There are times when he wonders why himself. But at other times, he remembers every single touch and threat whispered. It becomes clear to Suga that it’s easy enough for his dad to say that he should speak up when the teacher never laid a finger on him. His dad has never felt Nakamura’s fist in his hair, or felt that heavy weight on his back, or felt those fingers push into him, or—or any of that. Suga wishes he could tell his dad this—that every time the name rises to the surface of his mind, his throat goes dry. Every time he’s reminded about what happened he feels the ghost of those hands on him, that man inside of him, and he feels dirty all over again. It’s already bad; what if it gets worse?

_It’s easy to say, ‘speak up’ when you feel safe and you like yourself and your mind is not a sinkhole and you know you’ll be outside the range of backlash when things go wrong._

His father’s frustration grows. He says, “Don’t you get it. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

 _No, you don’t get it. He can and he will. He can hurt my friends. What if I do say something and the authorities don’t believe me or there’s not enough evidence to prove it was Nakamura-sensei or he finds out before anyone can arrest him? If I’m not one hundred percent sure that Nakamura will end up behind bars, then what’s the point because then it’ll just be worse. I will have made things worse._ There are so many things that can go wrong. He can suddenly feel Nakamura’s breath in his ear, telling him exactly what could go wrong, and it makes him feel so small.

Suga licks his lips nervously and says, “I can’t tell you anything so please stop asking. He’ll—”

“Do what? What could be worse than what he’s already done? Tell me, Koushi. What could he have threatened you with?”

Suga shakes his head. _It could be worse._ “I don’t know. It’s just—”

“Now you don’t know?” his father questions. “Just tell me a name and we can fix this! We can help you! You don’t even have to report it. Just tell _me_ and I’ll make that bastard pay!”

The idea of a confrontation between his father and Nakamura-sensei fills him with dread. His dad’s kind of a small guy, so what if he gets hurt? What if he gets in trouble with the police and then gets in trouble with his job? _No, no, no, no. This isn’t Dad’s problem._ _Stop. I just want to press pause. I don’t want to think about any of this._

They don’t understand. “I’m disgusting.” Nobody understands this feeling. Part of him knows he’s surrounded by people that profess to care but he still feels so alone, because no one _gets_ it. “I don’t deserve your help. If you really knew, you’d think I’m disgusting too!”

“Maybe you are! It’s disgusting that your keeping his secret for him!”

Suga’s breath falters. He swallows and agrees, “I am. I am. I know I am. The worst.” And then he starts thinking, _I am the worst. I came; he made me come. How could I?_ If anybody knew the truth how could he say he didn’t want it? People will think he enjoyed it.

“You’re not helping anybody by staying silent.”

 _I am the worst. Weird. Gross. Even my dad says so. I knew Mom and Daichi were lying and are secretly disgusted with me too. They’re just being nice. I mean, maybe Mom actually believes in me, because she’s her, but there’s no way Daichi could still like me after how he saw me. Besides, they would be better off without me. They can stop trying to fix me. I’ve made no progress. I just go backwards. I got in a car with the same man who hurt them the first time. It must be tiring for them. And even if they say they love me, how could they? They don’t know me. I don’t even know me. The past me is gone. All I know is this hollow, echoing part of myself that’s made up of lingering shame and hatred and bitterness._ Suga’s been quiet for so long, it’s easier to just say nothing about his attacker.

He says, “I hate myself.”

 _I got in that car. He messed with my head, sure, but I still got in despite knowing how it would turn out. I knew. I knew and maybe I wanted it to turn out like it did._ Since the first time, Suga has been acting a little reckless—neglecting his body, making himself sick. In the back of his mind was always the thought that he wanted to break. Break completely. He doesn’t even feel like crying, he’s so empty. This body that he hates, he wants to be done with it.

His father drags his hands along his face and pointedly redirects his gaze to the window. He says, “I can’t deal with you. I don’t understand you at all.”

 _In my head, I know I’m being difficult, but I can’t help it. Look at what you’re doing. You just keep hurting everyone._ He’s awful. He’s probably dirty too. When the tests come back, they’ll probably confirm it. Daichi deserves someone better. _I can’t be the one for him. I’m never going to be the one for anyone_. Not even that bastard Nakamura wanted him for him, instead using him as a substitute for someone else, not that Suga ever wanted to be wanted by his teacher.

So many thoughts fly through his head until one sticks.

_I can’t be like him._

_There’s no way that I’ll let myself become like that monster._

_I’d rather die._

His father sighs. “Koushi, I didn’t mean what I said. I was being too emotional. You’re not a problem to be dealt with. You’re not disgusting. I shouldn’t have said—”

“It’s okay,” Suga responds without much emotion. _I don’t want to be here. I really don’t want to be anywhere._ “It doesn’t matter.”

“Koushi.” His dad looks worried and apologetic. He reaches for his son’s hand but Suga feels himself pull away reflexively. “I misspoke. I hope you know I love you no matter what. I—”

“I’m sorry.”

Studying the fibers in his blanket, Suga doesn’t acknowledge his father’s appeasements. The man doesn’t mean them anyways. What he had said first was the truth—it’s what Suga has been thinking, so this confirmation isn’t shocking. He doesn’t blame his dad, who was only saying what the others couldn’t bring themselves to say. He’s disgusting. He’s useless. _Everyone just needs to stop being nice to me because I don’t deserve it._ This charity just makes everything hurt even more. He blinks away his weakness.

“Koushi, look at me, please,” his father pleads.

“What’s going on?” his mother’s voice suddenly sounds from the doorway.

Suga glances up, seeing his mom looking utterly exhausted, and Daichi right behind her, worried. He looks away quickly, back to his lap.

“What did you say to him?” she demands.

 _My face must not be as stoic as I imagined._ _I should say something, tell her it’s not Dad’s fault. No,_ Suga thinks. _She’ll just ask more about all of this. I’m sorry, Dad._ He stays silent, watching them argue in low voices as they walk out into the hall, which is when he peers up at Daichi’s expression. He doesn’t think Daichi will ask again after their fight last time, but he wants to dispel any thoughts about his dad being involved.  

“It’s not him, Daichi,” Suga says the moment he hears the door click behind his parents.

“That’s not what I was thinking.”

The setter doubts it. He adds, “It’s not his fault. He didn’t say anything I didn’t already know anyway.”

Daichi’s grip tightens on the bed’s safety rail. “Which is?”

Suga doesn’t answer, shaking his head. It’s a strange atmosphere, like when the air’s warm despite a storm brewing. Suga can feel the clouds waiting as they avoid addressing what was said on the phone. After a long while, he asks, “Is Asahi okay?”

“Yeah,” Daichi responds firmly. “His dad came to get him and they decided that he’ll come by to see you tomorrow. My mom’s waiting out there.”

“Did you get in trouble?”

“No. Or, I guess, not yet,” Daichi says, the apprehension fading from his expression bit by bit. He kind of smiles, just barely. “She was just worried. Apparently, she and your dad both called Takeda-sensei about us. I’m surprised my mom even has his number.”

The heaviness settles in again when the silence presses against the walls. Here they are trying to talk about normal things when there’s so much that hasn't been resolved between them. At least in person. Suga doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but every time he glances at the captain, he remembers. He confessed to Daichi, and then Daichi found him beaten and naked in the dirt.

“I hate that you saw me like that, so dirty and pathetic.” Suga bites his trembling bottom lip. Somehow, it’s easier to admit these sorts of feelings to Daichi than anyone else. With his parents, with that nurse, the words just couldn’t escape his throat. “It’s so embarrassing just thinking about it.”

Daichi’s eyes are soft and sympathetic. “You were barely breathing and were so cold it turns out you had hypothermia,” Daichi says simply. “The only thing on my mind was getting you warm and keeping you alive.”

Why does he care so much? Suga doesn’t understand it. _Calling Daichi, making him search for me, giving him this hope where there really is none—where I intend to snatch it away when no one’s looking—is my biggest regret right now. I should have just died on that mountain without getting anyone involved. I was weak. I couldn’t stand the idea of Daichi hating me for a minute longer. I had to apologize. Daichi._ Daichi. Suga wants to say his name over and over, hold it, wrap it around him, pull any amount of comfort that he can from its sound. He’s afraid he doesn’t have the right to do so. It’s not something he can ask.

“What?” Daichi rubs the back of his neck. “You’re staring.”

Suga looks away and finds himself smiling. It’s not forced, but somehow, he feels sadder than ever. “You’re a great friend, the best someone could have. And I’m glad it’s you.”

“Huh?”

Closing his eyes, Suga feigns sleepiness. Daichi says he’ll take his leave and come back to visit tomorrow. The captain makes a big deal out of telling Suga how he’s going to be back with Asahi. _I’m not going to be here tomorrow, I’ve decided. But I’m glad it’s you, whom I have these feelings for, whom I spoke to last. There’s no one better honestly. If things had been different, maybe—if I hadn’t of pretended to not know your feelings for a whole year—if I could trade in this traitorous, gross body of mine for one that’s untouched—maybe then I could reach out for your hand without feeling guilty._ Still, the hopelessness doesn’t taste the same anymore that he has a course of action. So, when his mother enters again, he doesn’t stir, pretending to be deep in sleep.

He supposes he should feel bad, deceiving them all like this. Should he have given them something more or would that have been cruel?

He’s so tired. _What does it matter?_

Eventually he slips into a real sleep.

***

He opens his eyes after everything has been dark and quiet for a while, anticipation gnawing at him. They’d disconnected him from the tubes and wires while he was asleep, body apparently back to a normal temperature.

Looking around the dark room, Suga decides that it has to be now. His heart starts racing when he stands, and he reaches out for the bed to steady himself. Hospital gown not providing the same warmth as the blankets did, a chill runs up his spine. Moving toward the bathroom, he uses everything along the way as a handrail, and when his hand lands on a pen resting on a small end table, he thinks, _oh yeah. I should probably leave a note_. Afterwards, he can use this pen—break it so the hard-plastic shell becomes jagged. He’s not sure about his grip strength, so maybe he’ll have to bite it…? But his mouth kind of hurts. Mind already imagining the scenario unflinchingly, he grabs the pen and rips off a sheet of paper from a notepad sitting beside a telephone there.

The sound causes a stirring in the corner and his mother lifts her head from the edge of an armchair. Suga jumps. She’s looking directly at him, blinking away the sleep in her eyes. Apparently, she had rushed here when she got the call almost finished with a double-shift at the hospital across town. He doesn’t know when the last time she slept or got any rest was. He hesitates momentarily, thinking maybe he should just get back in bed and pretend none of this ever happened.

But if things continue like they have been, and if every day is like today or yesterday, or these past three weeks, then what’s the point of trying?

He decides to go through with it. She just surprised him is all. He had hoped Daichi would be the last person would speak to because he was kind of scared of this scenario with his mom—but no matter. _If it’s my mom, it’s okay too._ He just couldn’t bear the idea of Nakamura-sensei being the last face he saw. _That’s why this is better than dying on that mountain_. _I get to say goodbye in a way._ It won’t be drawn out though, he decides. His note will be succinct and not overly emotional.

“Just going to the bathroom,” he says before she can ask, trying to hide the pen and paper at an angle she can’t see. Luckily, it’s so dark, she doesn’t notice the nuances of his expression.

Still, she asks, “Are you still hurting?” and he can’t tell whether she means it in a physical sense or emotional one.

“Kind of,” he replies, spending a long moment just looking at her, trying to memorize her face perfectly. _This is the last time,_ he thinks. His chest aches. He wonders if he should tell her he loves her, but that will surely alert her. He blinks slowly, ensuring that he’s got the image just right.

“I’ll be right here, Kou-chan,” she says. The words echo in his mind. She’s offering out her hand to help.

He turns away and hobbles to the small bathroom, pretending to himself that he’s not scared at all.

If he takes it then she’ll definitely drown too, right?

_I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry._

_Daichi. Dad. Asahi. Everyone._

_I’m sorry._

***

i’m sorry

***

Sugawara Koushi’s mom has a bad feeling. She awakes with a start, instantly realizing that she had fallen asleep instead of just closing her eyes for a second. The dark room feels wrong and when she looks to her son’s hospital bed to find it empty, the wariness she had felt in her sleep intensifies.

She knocks on the bathroom door calling out her son’s name. When she gets no response, she bites back her immediate worry. As a nurse, she’s aware of all the hazards that can present themselves to someone in her son’s condition, weakened from hypothermia. “Koushi, are you all right?”

His _physical_ condition isn’t what she’s really worried about, though. The silence and the beating of her now racing heart is all the answer she needs.

“Koushi.” She twists the knob, unsurprised but still frustrated that it’s locked. “Answer me this instant!”

A nurse appears in the doorway, flicking the light on, looking harried and questioning. “What—”

“We need a key to this room now!”

The nurse doesn’t ask questions, just rushes out of the room, returning moments later with a key held high and two other nurses in tow. One of them holds Suga’s mom back while the first fits the key into the keyhole and pushes her way inside. The mother tries to pull herself away, craning her neck to see what’s inside the little bathroom. _That’s my son. You can’t hold me here. That’s my son._

“Get a gurney!” the first nurse commands suddenly. There’s movement all around and she notices no one’s holding her back anymore. “He’s not breathing. There’s a pulse. Barely.”

“We’ve got to stop the bleeding.”

She’s already reaching out when she reaches the doorway to the little room. The sight makes her falter. Blood pools on the floor beside her son, whose body lays there limp and pale. The nurses themselves have blood staining their hands and shirtfronts. They wrap Koushi’s arms in gauze and bandages. Snapping out of her trance, she rushes in to help.

“Tell me what to do,” she urges them.

“Let us handle this,” one nurse says while another nods.

“I’m a nurse too!” _Damn it!_

“You’re shaking like crazy. You’re in shock.”

“We’ll take care of him.”

 _But that’s my son. I have to help. You said he’s not breathing._ She realizes that that’s something that’s never happened before. Her son has always breathed. He’s never been devoid of this much blood. He’s never been so lost that he’s tried to take his own life. She had taken it all for granted. _My baby. Kou-chan, hang in there._

They lift the silver-haired boy onto a gurney. “We have permission to perform a transfusion?”

The mom nods right as the group is pushing past the threshold and into the hallway. She stays behind, clutching her trembling fingers together and staring at the puddle of red that came from her son. If she hadn’t fallen asleep, it wouldn’t have taken so long to realize something was wrong. If she’d insisted that his father hadn’t meant what he said. There has to be something she could have said or done.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asks the empty room. Despair covers the walls like an expensive wallpaper. Breathing in the sadness and letting it fill her, she thinks that he must have felt so alone. He must have—

In the sink is a piece of paper.

With tentative fingers, she unfolds it. It takes three readings of this paper for it to feel real, to realize that Koushi intended these to be his last words. He didn’t address it to anyone nor mention any names.

_I hate to waste your kindness like this, but it’d be even more of a waste to live bitterly and drag you all down with me. I’m scared that I’ll keep hurting you, and I’m scared that I’ll turn out like him. That can’t happen. He took everything from me, but this choice is my own. I’ve resolved myself and none of this is anybody’s fault but my own. I’m sorry for troubling you. I’m so sorry for everything._

_Sugawara Koushi_

This is the last thing any parent wants to read. Comfort? Closure? This is just twisting the knife further because how could she not blame herself? If he had voiced even one of these concerns, she could have easily debunked them. _There’s no way that you could turn out like that monster, Koushi. I didn’t raise my son in a way that it’s even a possibility. And you’re not hurting me. And_ —Damn it! There’s still so much she needs to say to her son. He _has_ to be all right.

Something on the floor catches her eye. There’s writing there too. _More to Koushi’s message? Something he forgot or didn’t have the chance to write in his note?_ Crouching down, she can make out the kanji for “village” written in blood. There seems to have been more to the message but it’s indecipherable, having been stepped on and smeared by the nurses rushing in to help Koushi. She snaps a picture of the symbol pondering what her son could have meant in writing it. What was he trying to say so badly that he wrote it in his own blood?

Why couldn’t she help her son? If nothing else, why couldn’t she help him at least live and teach him that everything else will follow after, but only if he lives? She wants to wrap her arms around him. She wants to tell him that things will get brighter. She wants to ruffle his hair and hear his voice and see his eyes light up with hope.

No. No, Koushi’s not dead. This tiny bathroom can’t be where it ends for him. He’s going to be fine and he’ll live such a long and full life that when his time does finally come, he won’t even remember this place. She pushes the note to her chest and scrunches her eyes shut. _I want Koushi to live a long and wonderful life. That’s my only wish. Please._

She wishes she hadn’t sent her husband away, longing for his support right now. Even if he was a catalyst in all this, obviously Koushi was already having these thoughts, and she hadn’t noticed. Before tonight, his eating habits, quietness, and sick demeanor—they were all warning signs. A thought suddenly strikes her and sends a huge weight to the pit of her stomach. Had something been happening all along?

“Sugawara-san.”

She barely reacts to the voice, opening her eyes slowly as to delay having to see the doctor’s expression. She’s seen this scenario countless times—has been there for many of them. If it was good news it would be said right away without hesitation, and the only reason the doctor is pausing now is to gauge her mental state and figure out the best way to deliver the bad news. She knows. She knows all this and yet she can’t help but look up at the doctor with hopeful eyes, because this is her son whom she gave birth to and watched grow up and if this is how it ends then what kind of mother was she?

“Your son lost a great deal of blood, and was deprived of oxygen for an extended period of time. We lost a heartbeat for a bit before we were able to resuscitate him. However, the shock and the lack of oxygen caused him to slip into a coma.”

Coma? Coma. A coma means he’s not dead, yet there’s so much gray area. Some last a couple of days while others last indefinitely. Still, he’s not dead. She stands, tucks the suicide note into her back pocket, and asks, “Is he breathing on his own?”

The doctor brightens slightly. “Yes. So, we’re hopeful.”

She needs to see for herself that he’s alive, and she needs to get out of this bloodstained room. “Can I see him now?”

This isn’t the end. There’s still hope. There’s still things that can be done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Am I sorry? Am I not? I’ve spent so much time agonizing over whether I actually wanted to go through with it, that in the end I was just like, “fuck it, call me a cliché bastard, but Imma write what I want.”  
> -nowhere to go but up, right?  
> -but damn, I could write soap operas if it wasn’t a day-to-day commitment  
> -next chapter, Daichi & the team are brought up to speed…


	12. Muddy Flowerbed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi :)

Daichi arrives at school early the next morning only to realize he doesn’t have the key to the gym or club room. He sits on the ground in front of the gym, sliding his bag off of his shoulder and watching his breath swirl in the air in before him. He only got a few hours of sleep last night.

Suga’s body, bloodied and naked, flashes behind his eyelids whenever Daichi blinks, and a jolt of terror traces the line of his spine until he remembers that the setter’s not there anymore. He’s not on that mountain. It freaks him out though, and he can’t stop himself from seeing it or thinking about how cold Suga had been, how motionless. For a short moment, when his flashlight beam had first found the vice-captain’s body, Daichi had thought that his friend was dead.

Terrifying.

So scary that when he finally called home, his mother’s initial shriek wasn’t as worrisome at all. His mom had been mad, a lot angrier than he had let on to Suga, but she had let him stay to see his friend.

And though he explained the situation, with the least amount of omissions possible, he felt disappointment gnawing in his stomach with each word said. There’s so much his mom doesn’t know about what happened that night. And there were so many instances on the ride home, staring through his reflection in the window, that he thought, _this is a good time to tell her. I should tell her now. Tell her that I’m gay and I’m in love with my best friend._ But every time he hesitated and the moment passed only to be replaced by an identical one, but it seemed so different in his mind. Daichi was on edge the entire way home, choking on things he couldn’t bring himself to say but also secretly wishing his mom could read the truth in his expression.

Once he was alone in his room, the feeling of nervous anticipation faded slowly to be replaced by the images that now haunt him. Daichi remembers the exact feel of coldness on his skin, remembers exactly how the starlight shone through the trees. Remembers Suga lying there.

“Aw. Sawamura-kun,” Takeda-sensei says suddenly, making Daichi jump. “We’re going to be having a team meeting this morning about Sugawara-kun’s condition.” Takeda’s voice falters on Suga’s name.

Daichi stands, rubbing away the goosebumps through his coat, and replies, “Okay, I’ll—”

“Actually,” Takeda cuts in kindly, placing a hand on Daichi’s shoulder and steering him away from the gym, “I want to speak with you separately. Ukai is going to speak to the team.”

“Why?”

“You see, Sugawara-kun’s mom called this morning.” Takeda seems anxious. Pushing up his glasses, he stops by the stairs that lead up to the club room. “There’s been a change in his condition since you last saw him, and she wanted to, uh—”

“Change? What happened?” Daichi asks quickly.

“You should sit down.”

“Just tell me. Is he all right? He has to be okay, right?”

“Please just sit down, Sawamura-kun,” Takeda repeats. Daichi throws himself down on the cement steps, wringing his hands and tapping his foot, eyes widened expectantly. “Sugawara-kun tried to take his own life.”

He feels the weight of every syllable Takeda says. _‘Tried to take his own life.’ Wanted to die. Tried to die. Suga._ Daichi simultaneously wants his advisor to hurry with the rest of the details yet is also terrified of the truth.

“He lost a lot of blood.” Tears drip down Takeda’s face and he doesn’t move to wipe them away. “He’s comatose. I’m sorry to have to tell you this.”

Daichi doesn’t know what to say. The words are pressing down on his shoulders, a series of increasingly heavy weights, so hefty that this can’t possibly be happening. How is he supposed to react to this when he hasn’t even seen Suga for himself? Maybe Takeda-sensei heard wrong and is mistaken. Suga, in a coma? Those sorts of things only happen in movies. The setter has to be okay. Daichi saw him last night.

He wants so badly to believe his naïve line of thinking. Otherwise, does this mean it was all for nothing?

“I know this must be a shock,” Takeda continues. “I understand that you and Azumane-kun went searching for Sugawara-kun last night and found him. That’s an amazing feat. You’ve done everything you could have.”

Amazing? Daichi isn’t sure how exactly he feels right now, but not amazing. Angry maybe. Angry at himself for _not_ doing everything he could have, at Suga for choosing the easy way out, at Takeda just because the teacher is here in front of him. Disappointed. Because, of course, nothing ever goes the way it’s supposed to.

The truth is, he kind of wants to laugh and he kind of wants to punch something and he kind of wants to feel anything, _everything_ , but this creeping sadness and guilt. He blinks and sees Suga’s unmoving body again, feels the coldness of his skin. If Suga dies, he’ll be like that again, but permanently. If Suga dies, Daichi will never get the chance to talk to him again. He’ll never—if Suga dies…

What was it all for?

What was Suga thinking? What did Suga’s dad say to him that Suga agreed with?

“Sawamura-kun?”

Daichi finds his voice and focuses on their advisor. “Yes. I’m okay.” He internally laughs. _What a fucking liar. You’re obviously not okay_. There’s so much pressure in his chest from the things he’s feeling and not feeling and wants to feel, and he doesn’t know how to pick them apart, so they just sit there. All he knows is that he’s not okay.

“There’s a quote from Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. She said, ‘Should you shield the canyons from the windstorms, you would never see the true beauty of their carvings.’ I think it’s a very apt saying for right now.” Takeda looks down at Daichi hopefully, quote obviously meant to cheer him. When he sees that it doesn’t, he tries explaining. “Weather the storm and you’ll be better off for it in the end.”

 _Windstorms. Rainstorms. Snowstorms._ Unresponsive, Daichi sits there thinking that if this a storm passing, why hasn’t it gone yet? Isn’t this enough pain for one storm? The streets are flooded, yet the onslaught hasn’t lessened, and it’s true, there are rainbows after rainstorms, but there are also damaged homes, broken roads, muddy pits where flowerbeds used to be. Is there really any beauty to be found in this?

Obviously Suga didn’t think so.

“I know this is hard,” Takeda-sensei tries again calmly, tears having dried completely. “It’s hard for all of us. And I don’t say this to downplay what you’re feeling, but to let you know that you’re not alone. You have ten teammates, your parents, Coach Ukai, and I, whom you can rely on. All right?”

He says, “Yes. Thank you.” He starts wondering when he can leave because he doesn’t want to be sitting on these steps anymore, but he’s not sure there’s anywhere he can go that will feel better than here.

“I mean it,” Takeda insists. “Perhaps I shouldn’t say this, but right now Coach Ukai is informing the rest of the team, and they’re likely to be confused and sad. Inevitably they’re going to look to you, Sawamura-kun, for guidance.”

Daichi relaxes his fists, which he didn’t realize he was even making until now. He hadn’t thought this far ahead. _The rest of the team still needs me._

“So, my question to you is, ‘how are you going to meet them?’”

***

“I have some bad news.”

“Coach, Daichi and Suga aren’t here yet,” Tanaka remarks. There are a few murmurs of assent from the team. Asahi can’t imagine how they’ll react. He didn’t have the luxury of being told in a controlled environment like this. _I nearly drove off the road._

“Our captain and vice-captain are late?” Noya scoffs. “I wonder—”

“Guys,” Asahi cuts in solemnly. But really, where is Daichi?

Coach Ukai waits until everyone is settled down. Asahi casts his gaze along the expectant faces of his teammates sitting around him. Ennoshita and Yamaguchi are visibly bracing themselves. Tsukishima looks like he already has some sort of inkling. Narita and Kinoshita seem apprehensive. Tanaka and Noya’s faces fall into worried frowns while Hinata and Kageyama’s expressions follow suit. Shimizu whispers something to an almost-trembling Yachi, but it doesn’t seem to do much to quell the girl’s anxiety.

Asahi just traces patterns on the floor beneath him with his fingertip and bites his lip. He doesn’t want to hear it again, but maybe it will make more sense a second time. Because the grizzly nature of the word “rape” didn’t prepare him for the sight he saw upon finding Suga.

“I should warn you that what is said in this room is to be kept strictly between the team,” Ukai says firmly. “The principal and a handful of staff are the only ones privy to this information. And you guys. So, I trust that you will not speak to anyone outside this room about it.”

Several members’ eyes widen. Asahi feels put on the spot even though it’s not his secret to be told. Is Suga really okay with this? Suga’s unconscious form flashes in his mind and Asahi quickly banishes it with nicer memories—like the day they went to the planetarium.

He knows he should have stayed to see Suga last night, he just…He was just scared. After seeing the gray-haired boy like that on the mountain, he was afraid to see it again, the image of his friend’s body unmoving and bloody. Or what if the setter smiled and pretended like everything was fine? That would be just as unnerving. So, the ace was too scared to look in on his teammate even after all his talk of having Suga and Daichi trust and rely on him.

Asahi shakes his head. _You can do better._

“It’s about Sugawara.” Ukai collects his breath, and in that second, Asahi can feel the weight of a dozen questions held back. “Early this morning, while being treated in the hospital, he attempted suicide.”

Asahi’s head snaps up, body cold and eyes wide, silently begging that he heard wrong. _Attempted suicide?_ Suga was all right when he left yesterday, as far as he knew. Suga wouldn’t try kill himself—he wouldn’t… Coach Ukai meets his gaze, eyes grave and knowing, and the ace shakes his head trying to make sense of it all. Around him, he hears the shocked gasps of his teammates and questions that can no longer be contained flung out into the air.

Ukai silences them all with a hand. “The doctors were able to save him but he’s now in a coma.”

It’s quiet as they all let this information sink in. A months-old image of Suga pops into his head just then. It’s of the setter grinning from ear to in the club room. Asahi can’t remember the context of that smile, only remembers the result, but he remembers it now, making it nearly impossible to reconcile the thought of Suga with suicide. Noya’s eyes are completely circular as they meet the ace’s silently, dazed. Asahi feels the cool track of a tear drip down his cheek.

“I know this is a shock. I’m sorry,” Ukai tries consolingly. But his words open the floodgates.

“Coma? No way,” Tanaka says confidently. After a breath and when no one reassures him, his voice falling into a whisper. “No way. There’s no way. No, no, no way.”

Yachi starts sobbing into Shimizu’s shoulder. Ennoshita, dark eyes glistening, pats the mumbling Tanaka on the back while Noya bites his fingernails and shakes his head like he’s trying to figure out a difficult math problem. Hinata is crying Suga’s name and clinging to Kageyama’s arm. Surprisingly, the young setter doesn’t push him away, just sits there pale and unresponsive. Asahi wipes the tears from his own face, but more replace them just as quickly. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster last night…

“You said he was being treated in the hospital.” Tsukishima is the first one to directly address the coach. Everyone looks to him when he speaks. “Why was he there in the first place?”

In their expressions, Asahi can see a new round of questions being born. Yamaguchi blinks around his tears, searching for an answer in his best friend’s face.

“Where’s Daichi-san?” Tanaka asks abruptly.

“Yeah,” Noya jumps in. He stands. “What’s going on? How come it has to be so secret? Why would Suga do something like that? Why was he at the hospital? What the hell is going on?” The libero’s jaw is clenched tight, eyes burning despite tears starting to form there. His agitation bleeds into the air like a poisonous fog, putting the rest of them even more on edge.

“Nishinoya, calm down,” Ukai says. “I’m going to tell you as much as I can. It’s just that it’s a sensitive topic, so again, I need your discretion.”

“Noya, sit down,” Asahi whispers. His gentle command is met by Noya’s compliance despite a barely concealed wariness, the libero sprawling into the space between him and Tanaka. Asahi exhales heavily.

“The reason Sugawara was at the hospital was because, yesterday, he was attacked.” Coach Ukai breathes, gathering his bearings, while everyone starts to question all at once.

“Attacked?”

“By who?”

“What happened?”

“Was it a robbery?”

“He was raped,” Ukai says suddenly, in the midst of the voices. “Sugawara was sexually assaulted.”

It’s like an electric shock spikes through the airwaves, because the team pauses, surprise and confusion affecting their posture and expressions. For now, the disbelief masks the hurt and they don’t feel the full extent of the pain just yet, though the echoes of it are starting to form inside.

Ukai keeps going, pretending he doesn’t notice his stunned audience. “We don’t know who the perpetrator is. We just know that he has a car and Sugawara likely came across him on his way home from school. So, I’m asking you all to be vigilant and report any suspicious activity to the school or authorities.”

There’s a mixture of horror and shock painted across the sea of faces around him.

“R-rape?” someone whispers like it’s a curse word.

Noya’s fists ball again and his face scrunches up. “Who would—Why would somebody—?” He can barely get the words out, voice strangled with rage. “I’m going to—I swear, when I find out who did this, I’m going to kill them.”

“We should be thinking about Suga-san, not about ‘killing’ anybody,” Ennoshita says.

“Me too,” Tanaka says, speaking over him. “I’m going to kill him.”

Noya nods stonily. “Let him come after me. It’ll be his mistake.”

“Guys, don’t talk like that,” Asahi adds, jumping into the fray. He should have expected the second years to react like this. People of action, of course their first instinct would be to want to fight back, even if they don’t know who they should be fighting. He doesn’t like hearing them talking about killing someone, even if they aren’t serious about—not after hearing Suga brush with death.

“Don’t think about doing anything stupid,” Ukai growls, glaring and angry. “This is not something to be talked about so lightly. This person is very dangerous. Your teammate is in the hospital.”

Asahi flinches at his tone. Cowed by the coach’s words, they all fall silent. The person who hurt Suga _is_ very dangerous. If the libero saw Suga’s condition last night, heard the way his voice faded in and out or the sobs through the phone, he wouldn’t say ‘let him come after me.’ The thought of anything happening to Noya or his other teammates is chilling. It’s paralyzing.

“What are we going to do? Suga-san wanted to die.” Hinata breaks the silence. “And now we can’t even talk to him, to tell him how much we need him and care about him and-and...”

“Hinata,” Yamaguchi starts, obviously at a loss as to what to say, looking almost as distraught as the boy he’s trying to comfort. He reaches out to pat Hinata gently on the back while the smaller boy, face wet and red and crumpled, continues to cling to Kageyama. Yamaguchi leans closer, glancing back at Tsukishima momentarily as he mumbles, “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Shouyou, Yamaguchi’s right,” Noya says.

“I don’t want him to die,” Hinata cries as Kageyama tries and fails to detach the spiker from his arm.

“Shut up, dumbass. He’s going to be fine,” the setter says sounding so sure of himself that Asahi almost believes him, until he looks up at them all and asks, “Right?”

His question is met by sighs and unsure coughs. Sadness hangs in the air, all of them aware of how helpless they are in this situation. Suga’s in a coma. They don’t know if things are going to be all right.

“Suga-san, what were you thinking?” Tanaka mutters.

“We can go see him, right?” Yamaguchi asks. “After school today?”

Just then, the gym doors open and close, Asahi turns his head to see Daichi standing barely inside threshold, having frozen at everyone’s gaze on him. He looks like he hasn’t slept at all. Taking a visible breath, he approaches the group, features fixed into a stoic expression, nervous, twitching fingers the only thing betraying the calm exterior.

“Daichi-san!” Hinata squeals, shooting up and throwing his arms around the captain’s waist. Daichi releases a surprised breath, and then the entire team is on their feet and surrounding him, asking questions, gazes confused and searching. The atmosphere feels both chaotic and calm now that their captain has arrived. Daichi pats the little spiker’s head absentmindedly while trying to respond to the team’s countless questions.

“What’s going to happen now?” someone asks.

They still. And wait. Daichi straightens himself up to his full height, squaring his shoulders and looking each individual member in the eye. Asahi can tell that he’s rearing to say something significant. It may be an act, but it’s a damn good one, and everyone just wants to believe in something right now. Everyone just wants to feel comforted.

“We’re going to get through this, all of us. Suga may be in a coma, but he’s in the hospital and he’s being taken care of. We just have to be patient and wait until he gets better. And when he wakes up, we need to be there for him.” The team hangs onto every word. Daichi’s voice is strong and clear. “That doesn’t mean asking him a million questions or telling him what you think he should do. Just be supportive. Be kind.

“I’ve talked to Takeda-sensei,” Daichi announces just as the man in question enters the gym, “and we’ve decided it’s best to avoid being out during dark hours as much as we can, which means no extra practice in the evenings and no morning practice for the time being. We’ll take today after school off too.”

“That’s for the best,” Ukai chimes in when the captain catches his eye.

The team accepts this with glum faces. Daichi detaches himself from Hinata. “I think that’s it,” the captain says, looking between Takeda and Ukai. “Wait. The Nekoma match—what do you think of postponing it? We won’t be practicing much next week, and without—”

He stops suddenly. He still looks stoic but they all know how much it hurts to think about Suga’s absence. No one opposes postponing the match.

“We can make arrangements.”

“You guys can get the equipment now,” Daichi says with a clap.

The crowd disperses, a few guys putting their heads together to speak in low voices, but, surprisingly, Tsukishima stays behind. Too curious, Asahi watches out of the corner of his eye as the blonde grabs Hinata by the sleeve and drags him back to Daichi. Even though he’s too far away to hear what’s being said, the facial expressions of the group seem tense. Daichi’s eyebrows jump at what Tsukishima says, and then the captain sighs and replies tiredly. Tsukishima doesn’t seem convinced and turns to the smaller middle blocker expectantly. Shaking his head nervously as he speaks, Hinata appears only to irritate the blonde.

Asahi watches Tsukishima pull Hinata away, an interesting look passing between them and the other first years. Confusion and curiosity get the best of the ace and he approaches Daichi.

“What was that about?” Asahi asks.

“They overheard a part of the fight I had with Suga on Monday. They know he was being threatened and they were questioning me about it.” Daichi blows out a huge breath and runs both hands through his hair, gaze unfocused. “I don’t know what to do,” he mumbles, looking incredibly lost. “Do I keep his secrets? It’s not like he’s dead. If he wakes up tomorrow and finds out I told everyone everything… But am I doing any good by not saying anything? Or do I owe him this much?”

“Oh.” Asahi ponders this. What a difficult situation to find yourself in. What would he do if it were his choice? 

“I have to tell his parents though. I don’t think it’s going to change much if they know the truth, but they deserve to know. He can’t be mad at me for that, right?”

“But you lied to Tsukishima and Hinata just now?”

Daichi clears his throat, mouth wobbling. It looks as if he’s putting so much effort into not crying, which makes Asahi more worried than if he had cried. The captain angles his body so that the rest of the team can’t see his face as he admits, “I don’t want them to hate me. I’m scared they’ll blame because I knew all this time the danger Suga was in and I didn’t stop it.”

Asahi puts a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “They won’t hate you,” he says reassuringly. “They can’t hate you for that.”

“Thanks, Asahi.”

***

Tsukishima isn’t prepared for the sight of Suga lying in the hospital bed. He’s shocked at the extent of the setter’s injuries. He hovers near the back of the team, who have all stuffed themselves into the hospital room and are taking turns at Sugawara’s bedside. Seeing the second years crying today feels different from all the other times he’s seen them shed tears. He thinks that if Sugawara-san were here— _really_ here—then he would be able to say something to comfort them. Like, if it were anyone else in that hospital bed, things wouldn’t be so—Tsukishima peers around at the wet and broken faces.

The blonde looks down at his interlocked fingers.

Things wouldn’t be so depressing.

Daichi isn’t here either. He said he would wait until they were finished. Even though he had projected such a calm, collected aura when he’d spoken to the team at morning practice—even though he had promised that they would get through this together—he’s choosing to struggle alone. It started to become evident when Daichi denied knowing anything more about the person threatening Sugawara, which was an obvious lie. _He’s trying to figure this all out on his own. Whether it’s to keep us safe or some strange sense of pride, the captain intends to pursue this without telling us all the facts._

_I mean, it’s his business if that’s what he wants to do, but—_

“Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says quietly, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s your turn if you want to go.”

 _Not really_. Instead he nods and walks up to Sugawara’s bedside, not sure why he feels so uneasy. It’s true that he feels a little uncomfortable standing in this room because it seems invasive watching someone sleeping. Oddly intimate, but given the circumstances, more sad. It’s weird, but that’s not the only source of his discomfort.

Suga would look peaceful if it weren’t for the bruises.

_We don’t talk much, but I think it’s really messed up that you had to go through something so terrible. I’m sorry. When you wake up, we all promised to be here for you, but if you wait too long, Daichi’s gonna have an aneurysm._

“I’ll be going ahead,” he says on his way to the door. Ennoshita and Asahi call out quiet goodbyes to him. He’s halfway down the main hallway when he hears running footsteps and Yamaguchi’s call for him to wait up. He slows his pace slightly.

“No one should really be walking home alone right now,” Yamaguchi says, catching his breath and falling into pace beside Tsukishima. “It’s not safe.”

 _I knew you’d come after me_ , is the first thought that passes through his mind. He shrugs and sticks his hands in his pockets, replying, “Do you plan on walking me all the way to my door?”

“That’s not what I meant.” His friend is about to say something more when Tsukishima stops suddenly in his tracks. Yamaguchi bumps into him, scrambling to say, “Sorry, Tsukki,” before following his line of sight.

Their captain is biting his knuckles, staring, but clearly not seeing anything beyond the window he’s standing at. He’s hunched forward, whole body tense. Sweat beads on his forehead. Bags underneath his eyes are pronounced even from this distance.

And he professed to being fine? _“I’m fine. You go on ahead. I’ll wait until the crowd thins a bit,”_ he had said, and then he had laughed.

How long after they left did it take for him to revert to this state?

Tsukishima tsks. “He really should just stop pretending,” he mutters, tone more annoyed than he intended.

“Are you worried about him, Tsukki?”

The middle blocker bristles and starts off again, freckled friend at his heels. “No,” Tsukishima replies, looking straight ahead. “It’s just he’s not fooling anyone.”

***

The waiting room chairs are all empty except for his. There’s a receptionist clicking away at her keyboard, who glances up at him occasionally. He’s been trying to hold it together in front of the team. If he’s their strength, then they can break down however they need to because they know that someone’s there. Inside, he’s kind of a mess, but as long as he can be honest when he’s alone, then that’s enough. He’s used to pretending anyways.

Unable to sit any longer, he paces over to a window. He already decided that he’s going to tell Suga’s parents about there being a first time, but now that he’s here his nerves are nearly unbearable. What if he just makes them feel worse? Daichi waits for who knows how long, worrying over Suga’s parents’ reactions and trying not to see his friend when he closes his eyes. He stares just to keep from blinking.

Coma. It doesn’t seem real. It doesn’t seem possible.

“Daichi,” Asahi says, stepping up beside him. The captain nearly jumps, having missed the sound of his approach, so caught up in his own head. “The others are all gone. You should go in now.”

“Right,” he replies, nodding to himself and biting back all of his doubts. He’s not sure how long it’s been since they arrived—a half hour, forty minutes?

“It’s going to be fine,” Asahi assures him with a small smile. “You have a ride home, right?”

Nodding again, he takes a deep breath and makes his way toward Suga’s room. He hesitates before going in.

The moment he enters, he falters. Coma. It’s real. It’s too real. _Suga, there, silent, motionless._ His parents bathed in exhaustion. _Suga, attempted suicide. Suga, rape. Suga, bulimia. Suga, coma. Suga, Suga, Suga, Suga, why?_

Why?

Why do things have to be like this? 

All of his doubts and fears come rushing back. He wants to go back. He’s not ready to see Suga. He’s not ready to face Suga’s parents. He didn’t protect Suga like he said he was going to. What if Suga really does die? It’s so loud and chaotic in his head. The guilt he’s been trying to push into the background since this morning—no, since yesterday’s call—explodes through his body, making him feel scared and weak.

He drops to his knees and presses his forehead to the floor, something he’s seen people do but never had to perform himself.

“I’m sorry!” he announces, feeling his breath bounce back at him. “This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Suga’s mom says sympathetically.

“Yeah,” his father agrees. “Stand up and we’ll talk about whatever you want to talk about.”

“No!” Daichi cries. Now that he’s in this position, he’ll see it through. “I have to do this. Because I knew! He told me a week ago that someone had raped him and I told him that I’d be there with him. I told him I’d protect him! And I didn’t! We had a stupid fight and I wasn’t there when he needed me, and I knew. I knew something could happen and I still wasn’t there! I didn’t get there in time! And if he’s not here because of something I did or said or didn’t do or didn’t say, I don’t know what to do. I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! Please tell me what to do to make this up!”

The tiled floor is wet beneath his eyeline and his face is hot. _I said it._ He feels slightly redeemed for his earlier lie to Tsukishima and Hinata. He hopes that Asahi was right about them not hating him and that the statement doesn’t just apply to their kouhai. His fingers tremble as he tries to stem the flow of water from his eyes.

“Daichi,” Suga’s mom says, crouching down, voice so soft and sympathetic that it brings forth more tears. “Daichi, you can blame yourself for not getting there in time. My husband can blame himself for being too insensitive. I can blame myself for falling asleep. We can blame the hospital for not checking in on him more often.” She lifts his tear-stained face to look at her in the eye. “We can blame everyone and everything, but that doesn’t change the fact that Koushi isn’t present here with us. It doesn’t help anyone, and holding onto that anger and guilt is what, I think, ended up hurting Koushi.”

That sounds true. Suga wouldn’t let anyone tell him it wasn’t his fault. Still, it hurts so much. He wishes Suga were here. His silent tears turn into sobs that he can’t control.

“You need to let it go,” she says, hugging him firmly. “Instead of thinking about what you couldn’t do before, focus on what you can do now.”

It’s so warm he doesn’t want to move. If he could stay like this forever, wrapped in understanding arms, then maybe he could heal completely. _Damn. If Suga had just—no, his mom said to stop obsessing over the past. Stop with the ‘what ifs.’_ Daichi sniffles and sits back on his heels, wiping his face on his sleeve.

“Come on now, please stand up,” Suga’s mom says lightly, wiping at her own eyes. “If I have to see one more man drop into dogeza today, I don’t know what I’ll do.” She elbows her husband, who looks away bashfully.

Daichi straightens, feeling so much lighter than he had upon entering the room, and makes his way to Suga’s bedside. He’s glad the team didn’t see him like this, but it felt good to just cry and be held. Taking the setter’s hand and trying not to wince at the bandages wrapping his forearms, Daichi ponders Sugawara-san’s words again. _Focus on what you can do now._ His teammates had asked him the question, “What’s going to happen now?”

_What can I do?_

Suga looks like he’s simply sleeping. _He’s going to wake up. He will. And when he does, he’ll need support—like I told the team—so I have to figure out the best way to do that. I don’t really understand everything he went through or how to help or what to say or when it’s too much… There are people that specialize in helping people through trauma, though, and I want to be able to help too._

_I can learn how to help too._

“Suga,” Daichi says, wrapping his other hand around the setter’s. “We’re all waiting here for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -It's hard writing a bunch of people in one scene  
> -Next chapter will have more team stuff (hopefully written better), Daichi trying to keep his shit together, and a scene I've had written on a note on my phone since November...


	13. November

Sunday morning is cold and gray but oddly refreshing after spending the entirety of yesterday closed up in his room alone. The walk up to the station is quiet, but once he’s closer, the hum of conversation and screeching brakes become more prominent. Weaving through people, he strides down the platform thinking about the research he did Saturday. He traveled from link to link, from one online resource to another, unfortunately only very few devoted to male survivors. It was kind of disheartening. He still wants to talk to a professional in person, though finding the time—with school and practice and visiting Suga and homework—will be difficult.

As a rush of air from an incoming train blasts around him, he spots the team standing together a little further down the platform. Tanaka waves him over. Winding his way toward them, Daichi considers how Suga’s dad invited them all here, paying for their tickets beforehand, happy for company on his previous solitary trip. From here, they’ll travel to Sendai, to the Toshogu Shrine.

When he’s in their midst, several people clap him on the back. “Am I the last one?” Daichi asks, peering around to see who’s missing. He sees a mixture of smiling and grim faces. It’s strange, meeting them all here like this on a weekend and volleyball not be the subject.

“Tsukishima and Yamaguchi aren’t here yet,” Ennoshita replies.

Daichi catches Suga’s dad’s eye and nods in greeting. “Good morning, sir,” he says slowly, unable to get the thought of Friday out of his head, how he broke down in front of Suga’s parents. _Ahh. So embarrassing._ _I think I had snot on my face and everything._

The man replies with a friendly “good morning,” nothing in his expression to show that he thinks anything of Friday’s happenings. He reaches out his hand to shake and Daichi grabs it, grateful that it’s not something to be addressed. Of course it wouldn’t be on the other man’s mind.

“Where are those bastards?” Tanaka grumbles. “They’re late.”

“They did say they were coming right?”

“Yeah. That’s what they said.”

Daichi finds himself craning his neck along with his teammates, crowd thicker than it had been when he first arrived even though it was only minutes ago. Tsukishima should be easy to spot because of his height, and where the blonde middle blocker is, Yamaguchi can’t be far behind. A burst of air roars down the platform again, blowing hair off their foreheads and making them squint.

“This is our train,” Asahi says as it comes to a stop. The squeal of brakes give way to beeping as the doors open. _They’re not going to make it_ , Daichi thinks, sure that everyone else is thinking it too.

Kageyama says suddenly, “There they are.”

Everyone’s heads swivel to where the boy is pointing, people flowing out of the doors around them. The two first years can be spotted, about twenty meters away, looking out of breath and lost. Yamaguchi at least looks out of breath. Tsukishima is sporting his usual bored expression as he searches the crowd lazily.

“Over here!” Hinata calls, hands cupping his mouth. “Yamaguchi! Tsukishima!”

Somehow, Hinata is heard through the throng, and then the whole team is assembled in just enough time to board. Half of the team are left standing as the train pulls away.

“Sorry, sorry, everybody,” Yamaguchi says, grabbing the back of his neck with his free hand and bowing his head. “I overslept.”

“You almost missed the train,” Noya says, elbowing the pair.

Yamaguchi apologizes again while Tsukishima adjusts his headphones and directs his gaze to the window. After a short, they trudge toward the station’s exit, squinting their eyes against the sun now breaking through the clouds. The group is reserved, energy from earlier diminished.

“It means so much to me that you all could be here,” Suga’s dad says, leading the group through the particularly dense crowd outside of the station.

“It’s nothing, Sugawara-san,” Tanaka says with only half of his usual boldness, the others nodding with varying degrees of vigor.

A few minutes later, they reach the stairs leading up to the shrine’s main building. Trees line the pathway all the way up, sunlight reflecting in the sparse brown and golden leaves clinging desperately to the branches, wind blowing a few free. Gray exists in the edges of the sky as watered-down ink, a monochromatic blur pushed aside by the sun. Daichi blinks up at the aura around the sun. To think, a week ago today Asahi, Suga, and Daichi were visiting the planetarium and playing with a volleyball in Suga’s backyard. It seems like a lifetime ago.

“I used to come here on the weekends a long time ago,” Suga’s dad muses pensively, climbing the stairs with a small smile. “It was the first place to pop into my head.”

“It’s a beautiful place,” Yamaguchi says, peering around.

“Peaceful,” Tanaka adds.

“Right?” Noya asks.

The buildings they pass hold an air of knowledge, the weathered wood and chipping paint proof of all the years and all of the stories they’ve been witness to. Quietness settles over the team as they line up, putting their hands together and closing their eyes. Daichi stands between Suga’s dad and Asahi.

He breathes deeply through his nose.

_Please, help Suga. Help him wake up from his coma. He doesn’t deserve any of what he got, and it’s happened already so that can’t be changed, but if he can realize it wasn’t his fault…if Suga can start to heal… I just want him to be happy._

_Me too._ Daichi’s not sure if it’s arrogant or self-centered, praying for himself, but he does so, feeling like he’s whispering in his mind. _I want to be happy. And I want to be stronger. Don’t let me disappoint Suga, or the team, or my parents._

_And please…_

_Please, let him wake up._

When he opens his eyes, everyone is staring in his direction. He’s about to ask them what they’re all staring at when he catches sight of Suga’s dad out of the corner of his eye. The man is crying silently, gripping the bar in front of him and whispering under his breath. For a moment, Daichi’s stuck between wanting to reach out and wanting to give him some privacy. Not wanting to overstep his bounds, he gathers the team and starts shepherding them away. They amble down the path in silence, Ennoshita in the lead, Daichi and Asahi bringing up the rear.

“What—” Hinata hesitates, voice soft, and then asks from the middle of their group, “What do you think Suga was thinking?”

No one asks, “when,” because they know just by the tone of the spiker’s voice. What was Suga thinking? Why did he do it? Daichi’s throat gets tight remembering the phone call with Suga that night, remembering the sight of him on that mountain, or the look in his eyes during that last conversation he’d had with him in the hospital. Suga had told him what a great friend he was, and something else strange, which should have tipped Daichi off, but in the end, he just couldn’t know.

What was Suga thinking?

“He was obviously really sad,” Tanaka says like it’s a no-brainer.

“Sad, yeah, but maybe angry too?” Noya ventures.

“To have _that_ happen, I can’t imagine,” Narita whispers, barely audibly.

“I think he was afraid,” Asahi says gently.

The captain can’t see their faces as they speak. Part of him is okay with staying silent—the part that can’t shake the image of a hurt and cold Suga from his mind—feels compelled to say something. Staring out into the trees, Daichi mumbles, “Guilty.”

The team stops their quiet speculating. “Huh?” someone asks. Ennoshita and Noya, who have already reached the steps, stop halfway down and look back.

“Suga felt really guilty about it all,” Daichi clarifies.

There’s a minute of silence in which the team looks like they’re swallowing something toxic and Daichi wonders whether maybe he shouldn’t have said anything after all. He’s sure that what he said about Suga is true, unfortunately.

“But it wasn’t his fault at all,” Hinata bursts, looking confused.

“He didn’t do anything wrong,” Yamaguchi agrees.

 _These guys are so sympathetic and kind. When Suga wakes up he’ll have a whole slew of people who support and care about him._ Daichi smiles. “I know. Believe me, I’ve tried to tell him.”

“He’s always so hard on himself,” Noya sighs.

“Come on guys,” Tanaka says, trying to rally them. He spreads out his arms wide, and everyone can see how much effort is going into his optimism. “Suga wouldn’t want us to be all sad right now. He would want us to—”

“He’s not dead,” Noya cuts in indignantly.

“I know that,” Tanaka replies.

“Well, you’re talking like he is.” They start arguing between themselves, and Daichi rears up to say something but Ennoshita beats him to it, pulling the two apart while he chides them. _Yes, he’ll make a great captain_ , Daichi thinks as he walks past them relieved.

Suga’s dad joins their midst just as the team mill around at the bottom of the stairs.

“Thank you for coming,” Suga’s dad says, when he returns. Despite his haggard look and red eyes, he smiles a broad smile. “All of you are such wonderful young men, and I’m glad my son has such friends. I actually have a few errands to run here, but I’ll see you off to the station.”

“There are a few things I need to do too, guys,” Tanaka pipes up. “Noya-san, you want to come? Saeko wanted me to—”

“Something for Nee-san? Of course,” Noya butts in. “Let’s go.”

“Can I come?” asks Ennoshita. Al of the second years start talking and planning where they’re going like it were any other day trip, nodding and pointing off into the distance.

Hinata and Kageyama put their heads together, the spiker talking quietly as he pulls a volleyball from his bag with a grin. Kageyama says something about there being a park around somewhere and they both nod seriously and tell the captain their intentions as they run off. No one can say anything in response and Daichi watches them go, bemused, wondering how many hours of the day they spend thinking about volleyball.

What’s left of the team glance at each other. Yamaguchi smiles and says, “I think Tsukki and I are going back.”

“Asahi-san!” Noya calls as the second years starts to leave. The ace looks between them and Daichi, conflicted.

“I’m going to go back with Tsukishima and Yamaguchi,” Daichi says before Asahi can say anything. _Don’t worry about me._

He walks to the station with the first years. Once they’re on the train the blonde pushes his earphones over his ears and proceeds to close his eyes, so on the ride back, Daichi and Yamaguchi talk, a little awkward at first because they’ve never talked at length before. They soon settle into a comfortable conversation, and as they exit the station onto familiar streets, Daichi’s glad he’s had this time to get to know one of his teammates a little better.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.” Daichi waves as they part ways. “Remember, no morning practice.”

***

It becomes a routine. After practice, Daichi changes quickly and rides with Asahi to the hospital. Asahi only comes in for a short period, just long enough to find out Suga’s condition and say a short hello. It’s difficult seeing Suga like that day in and day out, so Daichi understands Asahi’s reservations.

Suga’s hospital room becomes as familiar to him as his own bedroom. He brings his homework and stays until visiting hours end, and by that time Suga’s dad has gotten off of work and drives him home. Suga’s mom is working more than before, so she isn’t there much, but sometimes members of the team stop by. Daichi’s even met a couple of Suga’s distant relatives.

At home, he can feel his mother’s eyes following him the moment he walks through the front door until he closes himself in his bedroom. He thinks Suga’s parents talked to his parents—that’s what Suga’s dad implied—but it may have made the situation worse. Neither of his parents have directly questioned him about his friend, but the atmosphere is often strained when he’s around and their irritation is palpable.

Most evenings, he’s alone with Suga. At those times, the captain talks out loud to himself while doing homework or when thinking about team strategy. Sometimes—when he’s particularly exhausted—he pulls his chair right up to Suga’s bed and rests his head on the edge. He watches the setter’s face, hoping that he’ll see an eye open or finger twitch. Sometimes he believes he can will it to happen if he focuses hard enough.

Suga’s body healed quickly. The doctors say he could wake up any time.

He hasn’t woken up. He hasn’t batted an eyelash.

So, for two weeks Daichi follows the same routine.

***

After hearing that it is supposed to rain tonight, Daichi goes back for his umbrella before heading to the hospital. The last thing he needs is to get sick, and then he can’t participate in club or visit Suga.

He finds the umbrella easily, not far underneath his bed, so he trudges down the stairs, bag bouncing on his shoulder. Out of nowhere, his father grabs his arm before he can leave through the front door. Daichi flinches, before he realizes who’s got ahold of him. Breathing deeply, he holds onto all the calm he has left. He’s itching to break free of his father’s grasp and deal with the consequences later, his temper having been short lately. The day has already been long and trying, both Hayami-sensei and Nakamura-sensei surprising the class with brutal pop quizzes he’s sure he failed. Slowly, he turns to face his father who’s at eye level.

“Daichi, where are you going now?” his dad asks vehemently. “I wouldn’t bother you if I knew you were going to study or even if it was for your club, but if you’re just going to sit in that hospital room again…” His father is pretending to be calm, but the tightness of his grip says otherwise. “You’re not accomplishing anything. He’s comatose; he can’t tell if you’ve been there are not. And, frankly, I think it’s irresponsible of his parents to allow you there so often. You’re nearing the end of your third year. This is a crucial time for you.”

Daichi’s face heats with indignation. The way his father uses the word ‘accomplishing’ makes it sound like there has to be something for him to gain from visiting his friend in the hospital. Daichi knows that his dad is not simply concerned with his studies. It has more to do with the circumstances of Suga’s hospitalization, but the man won’t bring it up when he thinks he can still control Daichi by playing the _worried father_. 

“For the time being, you should stop going there,” he says.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Daichi pulls his arm back carefully and wracks his brain for a response. He brings a hand up to his forehead, movements slow, trying to keep this false calm they’ve established, the layer of pristine-looking ice that was constructed between them years ago. Always at odds, they glossed over their disagreements, hardened their hearts, and kept a certain distance so as to ignore the fact that it was always cold.

“I can’t just not visit him, Dad,” Daichi says eventually. The ice cracks into a hundred little fissures beneath his feet.

His father heaves in a heavy sigh. “You can and you will. Your future is on the line here. Why can’t you see that?”

“That doesn’t make sense! What does it have to do with visiting—”

“You’re neglecting your schoolwork!” his dad snaps after almost two weeks of quiet mutterings and disapproving glances.

“So, you’d rather I neglected my friend?” Daichi shouts right back. All of his anger is bubbling to the surface, clouding his judgement as he meets his father’s dark glare. He’s getting his fucking homework done, so why can’t he just go visit his friend? He about to say something—perhaps what he’s thinking—but he’s cut off before he can even open his mouth.

“You mean that boy who let himself be raped and then failed at suicide? If those kinds of people are your friends, Daichi—”

Daichi snaps mid breath. Before he realizes what he’s doing, his fist is slamming into his father’s jaw. His peripheral darkens and all he can make out is the angry disbelief painted across the other man’s face. _Oh shit. Oh shit. Shit._ Did he just…

His dad swears and hits him back with enough force to send him stumbling over the end table and onto the floor. Daichi blinks dazedly, chest rising and falling quickly. He feels like he’s burning from the inside out. Sitting up, he eyes his father who stands above him shouting and swinging his arms around in emphasis, red-faced and spitting, but Daichi can’t hear any of it. His other senses are hyperaware of his surroundings. He can feel the part of his face that will bruise. He can feel the tingle of agitation ripple across every inch of his skin. He feels a fire sending his bones up in flames. He can smell the rain through the open door and it already feels like a reprieve from this heat. He can see the veins popping out in his father’s neck.

Teeth clenched, Daichi stands, dusting himself off, _leaving,_ his top priority. Eyes glued to the floor, he shoulders his way past his dad who’s still fuming and into the downpour outside. Leaving behind his umbrella and bag, the water plasters his hair to his face and soaks his clothes so that the heavy material sticks to him as he walks.

Daichi doesn’t really remember hitting his father. It happened so quick; he didn’t think about it. He was just— _is_ just—so unbelievably angry that his dad could say something so shitty _._

 _“Let himself be raped.”_ What a load of crap. What utter bullshit.

He’s seen variations of this same shit when researching—male victims who’ve spoken up being met with pushback—things like: ‘does that even happen to men? Why didn’t you fight back? Are you sure you’re not just gay?’ As if anyone would ask for that. As if anyone’s sexuality has anything to do with consent.

His chest feels tight and it’s hard to breathe. The coldness of the rain feels nice on his burning skin though, and it slowly brings his mind back to the present. _I need to calm down_. Stopping in his tracks, he relaxes his fists. _Calm down_.

It’s a while until he finds his way back to a street he knows, having walked around aimlessly, but it’s the perfect length of time to clear his head. He distracts himself with thoughts of his future, which otherwise would be far more daunting than it is now. There are a few universities he’s been thinking about applying to—but overall, he’s still undecided about what he wants to do. It’s not as stressful thinking about where he’s going to end up.

By the time he reaches the hospital, he’s thoroughly drenched, but the anger has left his system and a calmness has replaced it. The nurse who attends to Suga winces when she sees Daichi dripping wet, and rushes to get him a few towels. Daichi takes them gratefully.

Sighing heavily, the captain pats himself down the best he can and repositions himself on the chair at Suga’s bedside. His heart beats heavily as he bites down on the inside of his cheek, reaching out for Suga’s hand. He squeezes, but the setter doesn’t squeeze back, and he’s done this so many times and not taken it personally. Yet today, the unmoving hand hurts enough to beckon the words nestled deep in his chest.

Daichi squeezes tighter with both hands, a desperate feeling welling up with the words so that when he does speak, he’s breathless. “I know you feel like so many things ended when he did those things to you,” Daichi says, on the verge of tears. He wishes Suga could hear him. It’s been two weeks and no one has any idea of when he’s going to wake up.

A few days ago, Asahi pulled him aside during lunch and told him that everyone was worried that he was trying to do too much. Here Daichi thought he was doing a good job pretending to be okay, which wasn’t the case. He’d thought a lot about what was best for the others and what was best for himself, but honestly, he’s still having trouble reconciling them. Two weeks they’ve all been living with this weight hanging over them with no end in sight.

“I know you feel like he stole your body and your past self and your future. And I don’t know how to fix that. I don’t know if it can be fixed. I just…” Daichi pauses, collects his breath, and then bursts, “I just know that I love you, Suga. I’m _in love_ with you. I love you so much that I don’t know what I’m doing this all for without you—I’m so lost when you’re not here. And other people may think it’s crazy or gross or weird that I care about you like this, or I’m too young to know about love, or driven by hormones and impulse, but _fuck_ , I love you like crazy, Suga. _I love you._ ”

Daichi waits for any glimpse of movement from the boy with silver hair—a twitching eyelid or trembling lip, anything to show that he was heard. There’s nothing, and that just fuels Daichi’s desperation.

“I need you to wake up so I can tell you,” he all but begs. “Because you know what? Your parents love you, and your friends on the team—and that’s something he can _never_ take from you. There will always be people who love you. No matter what.”

_There. I said it._

“Daichi!” a voice suddenly cries from behind, causing the boy to jump into a standing position. Suga’s mom—teary-eyed but smiling—rushes him.

“That was beautiful,” the woman says, holding him tightly.

“You heard—!” Daichi splutters, mind racing to find a way to gloss this over. He must have left the door open and now they’ve heard everything and Daichi can’t find words now. “Uh.”

“We support you of course,” Suga’s dad chimes in, joining the hug merrily.

Daichi can’t process this. This joy, this happiness so contradictory to what he expected. Confused, he thinks that this could be some sort of trick or trap. Everything is happening so fast that he can’t figure out how much of this is real and how much of this is just wishful thinking.

“As a mother, to hear that someone loves my son so genuinely is a wonderful thing.” Her voice is warm and almost achingly sincere.

“I can’t think of anyone better suited to be a son-in-law,” Suga’s dad says.

Son-in-law? Wait a minute. There’s no—he and Suga haven’t even talked—he… Daichi’s face reddens as the hug breaks up.

“Were you out in the rain without an umbrella?”

Daichi suddenly remembers the dampness of his clothes as he meets the parents’ eyes guiltily.

“Daichi, what happened to your face?” Suga’s mom asks, worry creasing her brow as she scans the rest of him for injuries.

For some reason, the teen fakes a smile and shakes his head briskly. “It’s nothing, really.” _I don’t want to tell them I guess. What would they think?_

“You expect me to leave it at that after what happened to Koushi?” his mom asks sternly. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were in danger too.”

Daichi sobers quickly. Of course she’s worried and of course she thinks this has something to do with Suga’s rape, that possibly the same person who hurt her son has now hurt Daichi. He feels bad for making her worry for even a millisecond.

“My dad and I kind of got into it,” Daichi says as nonchalantly as he can.

Suga’s dad _hmms_ , crosses his arms, and eventually says, “If you ever feel like you maybe want some space from all of that, you’re more than welcome to come over for dinner. You can stay as long as you like.”

 _‘All of that?’_ Daichi doesn’t know what to make of the man’s tone or words until he realizes how he must have looked with a bruised face and glum expression. The man probably thinks that Daichi’s dad beats him or something. _‘All of that.’_ Daichi hurries to backtrack.

“It was just a one-time thing,” Daichi says, again as if he’s completely unfazed. He pushes down the flash of anger he had felt in that moment and breathes. _I’m saying it’s nothing, so it’s nothing._ “I threw the first punch, so it’s totally my fault.”

“The offer stands regardless.”

Daichi nods somewhat awkwardly. _He still thinks my dad makes a habit of hitting me. I guess this is payback for my questioning Suga about his dad._

“I’m so glad Koushi has someone like you looking after him,” Suga’s mom says, breaking the silence and changing the subject back. “Does he know how you feel?”

“Uh,” Daichi starts, embarrassed to be talking about this with Suga’s parents of all people. He and Suga haven’t even properly spoken about their feelings. Everything’s a mess, which doesn’t even take into account what Suga’s been through. “Kind of? He knows some of it.” After a minute of trying to think of how to explain it, he finally says, “It’s complicated.”

“Isn’t love always?” Suga’s dad muses.

His wife smiles fondly and says, “This guy here was my next-door neighbor and kouhai in the biology club.”

The man laughs. “I had no interest in biology. I only joined because she was there.”

“By the time he got around to confessing, I was already in a relationship,” she says ruefully. “I rejected him of course, but he said he would wait for me and that he wouldn’t ever stop loving me. I remember thinking, who does this brat think he is? This first year is crazy.”

“Soon after, her boyfriend and her split, so I asked her out again.”

 “I refused him again, out of spite,” Suga’s mom says. “You see, I was convinced that he had cursed my relationship because the timing was too convenient. His family did own some strange sort of apothecary, so he could have cast a spell on me or something.”

Daichi’s head turns from one to the other, interested in what the other will say in response. He had sat back down earlier and now he’s leaning forward in his seat.

“I did not, though I may have prayed every evening at the local shrine and went to Toshogu on the weekends.”

“I ended up dating someone in my grade, and we ran away together, which was the town scandal for a while apparently. It wasn’t until years later, when I returned home after living on my own for a while, that I ran into this man here. Everyone treated me like a pariah, but he was unconditionally kind. Always. And it turned out he still had a thing for me, so I asked him out.”

Daichi is speechless. It’s definitely not a storybook romance and there’s no major climatic revelation, but the way that Suga’s parents look at each other, it’s evident that they never wanted anything along those lines. This makes Daichi miss the almost-something that was between he and Suga, loneliness tasting like blood dotted across his tongue.

“It may seem hopeless, or too complicated a path to navigate, but if it’s meant to be, it’ll work out in the end,” Suga’s dad says softly, looking between Daichi and Suga.

The atmosphere is calming as they let everything settle in. Daichi never expected to be found out like this and he never expected such a positive, welcoming reaction from others. They don’t care that he’s a guy. _They didn’t even blink. They didn’t mention it_. He leans back in his chair and it’s no surprise that his wandering gaze falls to rest on the setter in the end. He’s sure that his own parents won’t be half as accepting, but perhaps he’s just overreacting.

Maybe everything _will_ work out in the end.

Suga’s mom moves—she leans against her son’s bed and lifts his hand into hers. Daichi is still unnerved by how limp the setter’s arm is every time it’s raised.

“I want my son to fall in love wholly,” the mother says softly. “It’s the greatest thing. Yes, it can be complicated and messy even. It’s hard work, letting yourself love, letting yourself be loved. This world doesn’t make it easy, but the best things in life take the most effort.”

_Suga._

_I wish I could have said it when you could hear me._

_I should have said it months ago._

_I love you._

The three of them spend the next hour sitting by Suga’s bedside talking—to Suga, to each other—and it’s nice, just being able to speak openly and not have to hold back what he’s really feeling.

On his way home, it’s all he can think about. Suga. Suga’s parents. Falling in love.

He feels weird.

He feels light.

The situation with Suga hasn’t really changed, but it feels different nonetheless. 

***

“Do you think Koushi’s last message could be addressed to Daichi-chan?” Suga’s mom asks once they’re home and sprawled out on the couch. Neither of them even bothered to turn on any lights.

“Sawa… _mura_ …” his dad pronounces slowly, but doesn’t say anything more.

The woman shifts into a more upright position. “If Koushi loved him too, that blood message could have been directed at Daichi. Koushi didn’t address his note to anyone. Maybe he regretted that and remembered something he wanted to tell Daichi.”

“Or, do you think Sawamura could have been the one to hurt Koushi?”

Suga’s mom stares at her husband for a full thirty seconds before tilting her head and saying, “You don’t believe that. If you suspected him the slightest bit you would have never acted the way you did earlier.”

“How did I act?”

“Civil,” his wife responds immediately. “No, kind. You were worried about the boy. You wouldn’t have been anything other than hostile if you thought he had anything to do with it. The journalist side of you would have come out and you would have interrogated him until he cried.”

“I don’t suspect him. I just wanted to see what you would say, and you sure said a lot about me.” With that, the man sighs heavily and lays out across the couch so that his head is resting in his wife’s lap.

“Should we tell him?” she asks.

“There’s really nothing to tell,” he replies. “And we could be wrong about it. We don’t know what Koushi meant in writing that. It could have nothing to do with Sawamura. What do the police say?”

Matching her husband’s sigh, the woman proceeds to run her hands through his hair. “They say they don’t have enough to go on, and without an official statement from Koushi, they can’t start any real investigation anyways. But they were sure to remind me not to go investigating on my own. ‘Let’s not start a witch hunt now,’ they said.”

Suga’s dad makes an annoyed sound and frowns. “They won’t do anything, but don’t want us doing anything. Where’s the justice in that?”

“The police could be doing more, but they refuse. The way they look at me with pity and—and this smug expression, like they’re just humoring me whenever I go in… it’s infuriating.”

“You’re a better person than I am. I wouldn’t be able to hold my temper.”

“They don’t care about Koushi because he’s a boy, and they have all these ideas about what a boy should be, and I can’t tell if they really don’t believe us or they think that Koushi is _less than_ , but…But if it were their son, what would they do?”

“There’s got to be someone on the police force who will understand.”

Suga’s mom sniffles, causing her husband to open his eyes and sit up in alarm. The woman starts crying in earnest, wiping at her eyes with the backs of her hands.

“It’s all going to be okay,” he says rubbing circles on her back. “The doctors are looking after Koushi, we’ll find someone on the police force who will listen, and we’ll wait on telling Sawamura a bit longer. At least until after his exams. We’re going to get through this. Okay?”

***

Before anyone can comprehend it, another two weeks pass, November gone and the first week of December sliding away without notice. It’s been an entire month since Suga first fell into a coma. Every day that passes is its own struggle. There are so many little things that the setter did, that Daichi took for granted. Suga always helped with volleyball strategy and helped keep everything organized in his head. If Daichi dozed off in class, he could count on Suga to have the notes he missed. If his parents were being overbearing, he could always study over at the vice-captain’s house or together with him in the library. Suga’s smile was the best stress reliever. 

Even though his mom had made both he and his father apologize, insincerity had leaked from their lips and the tense atmosphere hasn’t lifted since that evening, the false peace so flimsy it could shatter at any moment. For that reason, he’s avoiding being home as much as possible, eating dinners off of supermarket shelves or else spending the evenings at Suga’s house.

Suga’s dad is there more often than his mother because she’s been working overtime to keep up with the medical bills. Suga’s dad never turns Daichi away, or asks specifics about why the boy doesn’t eat at his own home, knowing already that things are tense with his dad. And Suga’s dad always walks him back to his house at night. After the fourth time, Daichi asks if the man will give him cooking lessons. He’s been reminiscing a bunch, and thinking about that weekend before it all went wrong. He hears Suga’s voice clearly in his head—all the baking instructions and tips, and Suga’s assurance, “everyone in this house cooks.” Daichi turned out to be truly terrible in the kitchen.

If he’s going to be in this house so often, then he’d better learn to cook. Besides, it’d be cool to surprise Suga with his new skills. Daichi goes over three times a week for lessons. He feels accomplished when the smells of whatever they’re making fills up the kitchen, and even more so when his finished product actually tastes good. At first, he was simply happy when his cooking passed the threshold into ‘edible.’ Being in the kitchen, Daichi realizes, is cathartic to him, much like volleyball is. Putting his energy into this, creating something, feels a lot more positive than everything lately.

Occasionally, Suga’s mom is there to help. Other times, he finds himself at Asahi’s or sometimes Tanaka’s. They play a round of cards or a round of video games or bump a volleyball back and forth in the backyard. He doesn’t feel alone like he had right after Suga went into a coma. Daichi knows he’s got people he can confide in and rely on.

Even if things are strained with his parents and Suga’s in the hospital, Daichi still feels like he has family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I have no idea what to say tbh, it's been so long, and yeah, a month passes in the story, and Daichi's a sap, and I don't want to talk about next chapter, and omg this chapter is finally done!!!
> 
> P.S. I'M SO GRATEFUL TO EVERYONE WHO LEFT ENCOURAGING COMMENTS, OR ANY COMMENTS REALLY, AND THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO'S STILL READING!


	14. 'I'm Sorry'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I'm gonna break your hearts again, but alas, the scene is not explicit! At this point we all know what Nakamura's capable of. There are a few 1-2 line flashbacks, and it's just generally sad, so beware...
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING: IMPLIED RAPE

Yamaguchi blinks dazedly, the gym’s ceiling slowly coming into focus, ears ringing. He’d taken a particularly strong spike from Asahi to the face after it had ricocheted from Hinata’s arms. The spike was just as powerful as ever. Wincing, he tries to sit up, face throbbing and nose wet.

“Someone help him to the nurse.”

“Waah, look at all that blood,” Hinata says with an outstretched hand. “I’m so sorry!”

Kageyama glares at the redhead, muttering, “Your receives suck.”

“Hey, remember when you caused the vice-principal’s toupee to fly off, Hinata?”

Hinata reddens while Daichi gives Tanaka a warning look. Letting go of the spiker’s hand, Yamaguchi attempts to take a wobbly step only to find that his vision swims, balance off. He throws an arm out to Tsukki for support and the blonde steadies him.

“Thanks, Tsukki,” he says, blinking and leaning on his tall friend.

Coach Ukai pushes a towel into his hand, telling him to hold it to his nose, and with Tsukki’s help, he hobbles to the nurse’s office. Sitting down on one of the beds, he lets the nurse check him out fully, after which he tries to tell her that he’s feeling better already, ready to rejoin practice. She’s not having it, adamant about him resting before going back. His nose is still bleeding and she says he’s losing too much blood to be moving around. So, she makes him lie down, presses a cold compress to his forehead, hands him a clean towel for his nose, and sets a bottle of water on the bedside table.

Tsukki, who has been hovering quietly, points toward the doorway once the nurse is at her desk. “I’m going back,” he says. “When your nose stops bleeding and you feel better, just come back to practice, I guess.”

Yamaguchi peers glumly over at the nurse. “Whenever she lets me.”

“Just rest up,” Tsukki says—almost rolling his eyes—and leaves without saying anything else.

The pinch server sighs and stares up at the dark ceiling, wishing his nose would stop bleeding already. _I suppose I’ll just close my eyes and rest. Just for a minute._

He drifts off into a pleasant sleep and doesn’t open his eyes until a while later, the room silent. Standing up, he realizes first that his nose has stopped bleeding and that he feels better rested than he’d been this morning. The next thing he realizes is that the nurse is gone, leaving behind a note that reads, “Went to the Teachers’ Lounge. Will be back in 20 minutes.”

Yamaguchi wonders how much time has passed. He feels like he didn’t sleep for very long, and now that practice is back to its normal length, he should be able to catch the tail end of it.

“I can just go, right?” he mumbles to himself, wiping his face clean before exiting the nurse’s office.

The practice game they were playing against the Neighborhood Association is probably over by now, which is a pity. It’s been about a week since Yamaguchi has been to see Shimada-san and he’d been looking forward to talking to him after practice, so he hopes Shimada-san stuck around.

“Excuse me. You there.”

Yamaguchi stops in his tracks. Even though he’s aware that he’s the only other one in the hallway, the pinch server still glances behind him just in case the man meant someone else. The teacher is carrying two large boxes, back bent and arms straining, long hair put up into a bun.

“Could you help me to move these boxes?” the man says. “I seem to have overestimated my strength a bit, but I’d like to get this done as soon as possible.”

The freckled first year takes long strides toward the teacher, figuring he’ll get this done quickly and head back to practice. It’s not like he can refuse a teacher. The teacher slides the top box into Yamaguchi’s outstretched arms, causing the first year to huff a little with the weight. He’s surprised the man had been carrying both.

“Follow me,” the teacher says. “What’s your name, son?”

“Yamaguchi Tadashi,” the first year manages to get out as he climbs the stairs. What’s even in these boxes?

“Well, I’m Nakamura. I’m in charge of class 3-4.”

Aren’t Suga and Daichi in that class? That week before the setter attempted suicide, Yamaguchi and the other first years visited him in class often. He hates thinking about how Suga still hasn’t woken up because… _what if he doesn’t?_ Yamaguchi has never said it out loud because it feels like a betrayal admitting it, but he sometimes thinks that Suga isn’t going to wake up. It’s scary thinking about because of course he _wants_ Suga to wake up.

“Nice to meet you,” Yamaguchi says, shaking his head clear of those thoughts.

Nakamura slows until they are walking side by side. “You’re on the volleyball team, right?” he says like he’s just trying to make conversation. “I hear the team’s not doing so well since Sugawara’s hospitalization.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” Yamaguchi replies, thinking. It’s an honest observation, so the first year doesn’t know why it makes him bristle, but perhaps it’s because it was said in such an off-handed way. Despite having been worried about the contrary, he finds himself saying, “Once Suga-san’s back, we’ll be back on track.”

 “Oh?” Nakamura-sensei asks, sounding amused. They’ve reached the top of the staircase. “Is that so? You think he’ll wake up, come back to school and the team, and everything will be like it was before?”

The box in Yamaguchi’s arms suddenly feels ten times heavier. _Of course it can’t be like before. Even I know that._ Maybe he’s just regurgitating the same optimism that surrounds him at practice, where they all talk about Suga like he’s going to come back tomorrow. Sometimes he really does believe it wholeheartedly.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any offense,” Nakamura says, and Yamaguchi wonders if he realizes how patronizing his tone is. “I’m just being realistic, and as an adult, I think it’s important for me to avoid filling my students’ heads with false hope. I think hope and blind faith can kill. I see how you _want_ to believe that Sugawara will wake up from his coma, even though it’s already been a month.”

Yamaguchi doesn’t have to prove anything to this man, and this is a teacher so he should probably hold his tongue, but a part of him can’t leave it at this. Yamaguchi, despite his own reservations about Suga’s condition, has seen how sometimes hope is the only thing to help people through these kinds of situations.

“Suga-san’s strong,” Yamaguchi replies resolutely. He’s never spoken to a teacher like this, so he almost apologizes for his attitude.

It’s quiet for a beat, and then the teacher asks, “Are you?”

 _Am I?_ “Huh?”

“Are you strong like Sugawara?”

The first year doesn’t know what to make of the question. All he knows is that an uneasiness manifests in his chest. _Am I strong like Suga-san?_ What a weird question for a teacher to ask. Nevertheless, he ponders it and concludes that he’s not like Suga, who’s brave and calm and strong on and off the court. If what Hinata overheard was right and Tsukki’s theory proves correct, then Suga had been pretending to be fine for a while before that week.

“That storage closet right there,” Nakamura says, tone returning to normal. 

During the walk, Yamaguchi somehow took the lead, so he’s the one to open the door to the little storage closet and he’s the one to enter first. If Yamaguchi wanted to stretch out his arms beside him, the width of the room would barely accommodate him, though it’s significantly deeper. A metal shelf stands against the wall directly in front of him storing various boxes and folders.

“Where should I set this?” Yamaguchi asks, ready to leave this box and teacher behind and get back to his teammates.

He’s about to glance over his shoulder when two hands shove him hard. The box slides from his grasp and he trips over it, landing awkwardly on the floor after knocking his head against the shelf. “Ow,” he grumbles, pushing the box aside with his foot and reaching up rub his forehead. That’s the second time today he’s hit his head. Footsteps shuffle behind him and he hears the door close and lock click, sending fear to twist his confusion into something heavier.

“What are you—”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Nakamura purrs. “Well, I guess I’ll have to see for myself.”

***

When practice ends and his freckled friend still hasn’t shown up, Tsukishima checks the nurse’s office. He can’t imagine Yamaguchi going home without him, yet the nurse’s office is locked and dark, so he turns on his heel, heading home, resigning himself that he’s been left behind. He still pulls his phone from his pocket and sends a quick text.

Tsukishima doesn’t get a response, which is irritating because the least Yamaguchi could do is text him back. How hard is that, especially since he is already home. Usually the brunette responds immediately, even if it is just to say that he can’t talk right now. Tsukishima quickens his pace, cold air nipping at his exposed skin until he can’t feel his nose, walk seeming twice as long when alone. Every exhale fades into the winter night.

When he turns onto his street, he remembers all the homework left to do, like the research paper assigned today, something that he was going to talk over with Yamaguchi on the walk home. He glances at his phone again as he unlocks his front gate. _Did he already go to bed? Perhaps—_

Tsukishima halts, surprised to find the brunette a few paces from him sitting on his front steps. Yamaguchi, still in his practice clothes, is hunched down, face hidden against his knees. Even though it’s so cold out, he seems to be sweating and his hair is messier than usual. His schoolbag lies beside him.

“Hey,” Tsukishima says. His friend flinches but doesn’t raise his head or speak.  “Hey, Yamaguchi,” he repeats, louder.

Slowly, the pinch server straightens and meets his eyes. Swirling with tears, they shout something in a language that Tsukishima can’t seem to understand, rendering the blonde speechless. The pair have known each other since grade school and are usually adept at guessing what the other’s thinking. There’ve been other times in primary school and early junior high when the freckled boy has come crying to the blonde. Tsukishima is vaguely reminded of those times. Yamaguchi’s eyes are puffy and swollen, his lip is busted, his shirt dirty and stretched out oddly. A hand is on his neck, covering the skin there. But…

This time is different. The expressions in Yamaguchi’s eyes don’t make sense.

Neither boy says anything.

Then Yamaguchi stands, and it becomes evident that he’s still unbalanced. “Sorry, Tsukki,” he says strangely, breaking eye contact and stooping to pick up his bag. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

He starts to leave, limping slightly, expression tensed against pain. Tsukishima’s eyes go wide at the sight, feeling like he’s been suddenly punched in the gut or maybe hit over the back of his head. Yamaguchi’s physical appearance and his strange behavior—it all comes together to form what Tsukishima is sure is the sick truth. Somebody has hurt Yamaguchi. Raped him.

Tsukishima swallows the lump in his throat.

Yamaguchi tries to slip past him but the middle blocker reaches out to stop his friend. “Don’t leave,” he says, voice betraying his unease. From this close, he can see the bite marks the brunette was trying to hide, and he winces on the inside. He takes a breath and continues calmly, “Come inside. We can talk there.”

“I was so stupid,” Yamaguchi says, mouth trembling and eyes eerily vacant. “I _am_ so stupid.”

The blonde pulls on his arm. “You’re wrong, Yamaguchi,” he declares, leading his friend inside. “You’re not stupid, so come in and we’ll figure this out.”

Tears start to drip down Yamaguchi’s face. Scrunching his eyes shut and biting his inner lip, he lets himself be led across the threshold, down the hall, and into Tsukishima’s bedroom. The middle blocker sits on the edge of his bed and motions for Yamaguchi to do the same, but he refuses, clutching onto the strap of his schoolbag nervously.

“Do you want to report it?” Tsukishima asks, looking perhaps too intently at his friend.

The freckled boy shakes his head quickly, not looking up from his shoes.

“You sure?”

Nod.

Tsukishima searches his drawers and closet, saying, “I saw your uniform in the club room, but I didn’t grab it because I thought you were still in the nurse’s office.” He comes back with clothes and towel, giving them to his friend. He can feel Yamaguchi shaking. “You can use the shower and any of the soaps. There’s extra of everything in the bathroom drawers. Well, you know.”

“Thanks,” the brunette mumbles as he exits the room, avoiding eye contact.

Once Tsukishima hears the shower running, his fists clench and his face contorts into an image of rage. _Damn the bastard who did this! Damn him, damn him, damn him! Why did this have to happen? Why isn’t this bastard behind bars yet? Or dead?_ He throws himself onto his bed and curses loudly. _Why? Why why why why why why why? Why didn’t I stay with him?_

Chest rising and falling as if he’d just played a game, Tsukishima unfolds his fists and laughs at how fucked up everything has gotten. First Suga, now Yamaguchi… There may even be others that no one knows about, because they’d probably want to keep it quiet like his teammates. 

He sits up. He doesn’t even know if he’ll be able to help Yamaguchi—doesn’t know that things won’t end up like they did with Suga. How did it get to this point? For Yamaguchi at least, it happened so close to school hours, and close to school (maybe at school), seeing as the freckled teen beat Tsukishima home. So, the perpetrator _must be_ connected to Karasuno High. That’s the most logical conclusion—the obvious common denominator, save the volleyball angle. And that doesn’t pan out because there’s no way that anyone on the team or Ukai could hurt Suga and Yamaguchi. It has to be somebody at school. The question is: who would do something like this?

***

Even after he shuts off the shower, Yamaguchi stands there like a statue, unmoving, dripping, but still feeling like he didn’t clean thoroughly enough. His skin burns where he was touched and he wants to peel it off. Maybe then he’ll be able to shake the feeling of Nakamura-sensei’s body.

Yamaguchi lurches forward and falls to his knees in the tub. His body shakes, as if with sobs, but no tears come and this quivering, nauseating feeling is more akin to fear than sadness. He hears the man’s voice all around him, echoing off of the bathroom walls and spiraling back to constrict his chest, his heart, into submission.

_“Are you strong like Sugawara?”_

The brunette presses his forehead against the tiled wall and relishes in the coolness against this unwanted skin. He wishes he could undo everything that happened today. _Suga. I don’t want this, whatever these feelings are. If I could go back and make this any other Wednesday..._ He breathes through his nose, the smell of soap filling his nostrils. He doesn’t want to move from this spot.

_“So, Yamaguchi Tadashi… Take good care of me,” Nakamura whispered with a fist full of his hair._

After the teacher had satisfied himself, Yamaguchi was left lying in that storage closet, looking at all those dusty boxes through bleary eyes, thinking that he didn’t really want to be alone. In that little room, he felt like the only person in the world, the quiet suffocating. It was dark. Yamaguchi was still trying to figure out how this had happened. He couldn’t let the team see him like this, but he didn’t want to be alone, and he thought that Tsukki could help with this, but now that he’s here, he can’t face his friend. Tsukki’s so smart, Yamaguchi probably won’t be able to hide these things from him.

_“Open your mouth.”_

And he did. He did everything he was told and he feels so sick and angry and humiliated and… _If I hadn’t been so scared then—if I hadn’t been such a coward, then maybe things would have happened differently._ Yamaguchi snorts. _Who am I kidding? I’ve always been a coward, haven’t I? I thought I’d gotten stronger, grown up, but that’s not true_. He lets his arm dangle over the side of the tub, ignoring the throbbing pain in his backside, and drags his fingers along the wet floor.

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki murmurs on the other side of the door, knocking twice. “You okay in there?”

The boy in question pulls his face back from the wall, realizing just how similar it is to his earlier position. He coughs to clear his throat. “Yes, I’ll be out in a minute.”

_How do I face him?_

“I was thinking that we could call Daichi-san,” Tsukki says. “I’m not sure how much he knows about what’s going on, but he’s close with Sugawara-san so maybe he can help. Only if you want to.”

“Um.” The brunette can’t seem to find words to explain that he doesn’t think Tsukki’s idea is bad, he’s just nervous about seeing anyone right now. Yet, he doesn’t want to be left alone and the _idea_ of being around Daichi and the team seems like a safe place. _But isn’t it strange that Tsukki suggests Daichi-san when he suspects Daichi is keeping things from them?_

“We don’t have to,” Tsukki makes sure to add.

“No,” Yamaguchi says quickly. Maybe he shouldn’t say anything and just leave things like this. There’s less to explain this way and—he winces thinking about Nakamura’s words—he isn’t sure how much he can articulate. Before he truly changes his mind, he says, “Call him. He should know.”

Tsukki exhales loudly on the other side of the door. “You don’t owe anyone anything. Whatever you’re comfortable with…is all I want.”

“It’s okay, really. I’ll be right out.” It’s surprisingly difficult to say.

He brushes his teeth twice as long as usual. He dresses carefully, limbs heavy but grateful for the clean clothes and comforted by the familiar scent of Tsukki’s laundry soap.

Yamaguchi reenters the room to find Tsukki sitting on the bed with a first aid kit beside him. He studies the little box because it’s easier than meeting the other’s eyes. “I don’t have any injuries that need first aid,” he says hollowly, still staring downwards. _A small bruise on my forehead, a cut lip, and… Well, either way, he can’t help me with them._

He hears the bed creak and sees the middle blocker’s legs as they approach. “Here,” Tsukki says, grabbing his hand and dropping two small pills into it. “For the pain. And I thought you’d want to cover up the hickeys.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi replies, fist closing around the pills and other hand going to his neck. “Thanks.”

Blushing, the freckled first year sits on the edge of the bed gingerly, taking the bottle of water offered and swallowing the pills in one gulp. He sits still and quietly as his friend applies the bandaids, fingers gentle and fleeting. This touch filled with kindness eases some of the ache in Yamaguchi’s chest.

“Yamaguchi?”

The brunette jumps, suddenly remembers that he’s not existing solely inside his head. He’s reminded that his body hurts like hell and his head’s not much better off, and he wonders what kind of expression he was making. “Yes?” he asks, voice straining to retain a tone of normalcy while he picks at some lint on the blanket beneath him.

“Will you look at me?” Tsukki says.

Yamaguchi doesn’t. He feels so out of place even though he’s been in this room a thousand times, even though this person is someone he trusts more than almost any other. He’s afraid that if he meets his best friend’s eyes he’s going to break down, and if he completely breaks he’s not sure he’ll be able to put himself together again.

“Talk to me,” Tsukki whispers uncertainly. “It doesn’t have to be about _that_. You’re so quiet right now.”

He doesn’t know what to think anymore. He can’t tell Tsukki how he begged and begged Nakamura to let him go and how it only angered the man. He can’t tell his friend how the man finally shut him up by filling his mouth with something horrible. _“You’re cuter when you’re quiet,”_ the teacher had said along with several other more vulgar things that Yamaguchi can’t even repeat in his head because it makes his stomach twist with disgust.

How does he explain the fact that the sound of his own voice makes him anxious?

How does he explain this? How does he explain even a part of it?

“I called Daichi-san,” Tsukki says. “He’s on his way over.”

Yamaguchi barely hears his friend over the roaring in his own head. If he could just make it stop—these memories playing themselves on repeat—then maybe he’ll stop feeling the urge to scream his voice hoarse or burn off his skin.

A thought strikes him suddenly, making his stomach drop and bloodstream go cold. Tsukki’s always telling him to shut up, isn’t he? What if what Nakamura said was right and his voice is annoying? What if he really is annoying Tsukki and the others when he talks too much?

 “Tell me what I can do to help,” Tsukki whispers, displacing the guilt and loneliness his thoughts had caused.

A familiar voice, a familiar smell, a familiar space—they’re all things he wants to capture and hold in his chest; maybe dress them up in chainmail to combat this fear and nausea. Yamaguchi throws himself at his friend, almost knocking him over. He clings on tightly, expecting to be pushed away any second, wanting to take as much comfort as he can from this hug before that happens.

It doesn’t happen. Tsukki doesn’t push him away, a fact that floods the brunette with relief. Burying his face against the other’s shoulder, Yamaguchi shakes, sniffles turning into cries turning into sobs, the scream built up inside of him bursting free and fracturing the calm. Minutes pass before he feels an arm rise and wrap around him. Tsukki who dislikes hugs. Tsukki who hates crying. Tsukki who is always so stoic.

_This. This is what you can do to help._

Yamaguchi smiles as the tears start to slow and his body stops quivering, grateful for this kindness. He pulls back reluctantly, studying his interlaced fingers. Maybe he should say “thank you,” but won’t that sound weird?

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says. A few moments pass in which Tsukki remains silent, and then the middle blocker prods, “ _Tadashi_.”

Yamaguchi flicks his gaze up in surprise at hearing his given name. Tsukki’s the same person he’s always known, with the golden brown eyes and glasses, the short blond hair and stoic expression. Yamaguchi knows he looks the same as always too and wonders how on earth that is possible when he feels as if everything’s changed on the inside. The middle blocker cracks an uncertain smile.

“So, you don’t hate me, do you?” he asks, eyes apprehensive and searching in a way that the brunette has never seen. “For not staying with you?”

“What? No way,” he responds immediately. “I don’t hate you. I couldn’t—” His voice fizzles out before he can finish, remembering what was said about being annoying. All the times his friend has told him to shut up rise to the surface of his mind too. Even though the wondering is painful, it’s easier than thinking about some of the things that happened. He can’t believe they happened.

Just then, there’s a knock on the door and they’re joined by Daichi, who looks tired, though he always looks tired these days.

“Pardon the intrusion,” Daichi says, scanning the situation subtly. Or in a way that’s supposed to be subtle. “How are you doing?”

 _Terrible. Horrible. I feel scared and stupid and worthless and filthy and so many other things that are not “good” or “fine.”_ But he can’t say that, can he? Yamaguchi picks at his nails, wracking his brain to come up with something, _anything_ , to say to his captain who came all the way here from Suga’s bedside to see him.

“You don’t have to say ‘good,’ you know,” Daichi informs him kindly. Yamaguchi almost flinches at how easily Daichi guessed his thoughts. “No one expects you to be at one hundred percent right now.”

Of course no one expects him to be fine. That makes sense, but he still can’t quite voice his thoughts. “I don’t know really,” he ends up saying in a small voice.

Daichi nods slowly as if that makes sense. If it does, then Yamaguchi wishes he’d clarify for him, because the first year doesn’t know what to make of it all.

“I know I don’t understand what you’ve been through,” Daichi starts, making the pinch server wince again at how close the captain is to answering his thoughts. The older teen, sitting backwards on Tsukki’s desk chair, seems to be choosing his words carefully. “But I know that it’s terrible and I know that it is in no way your fault.”

Tsukki nods solemnly, but says nothing else, differing to Daichi in this situation.

“ _And_ ,” Daichi says, looking between the two first years, “everyone on the team is here for you. You’re just as important a person to us as Suga, and we all care about you like family, so please… lean on us.”

Surely something so nice isn’t supposed to hurt this much. _Lean on us_. He’s not alone, he’s not alone, he’s not alone. Yamaguchi repeats this in his head, blinking away tears and smiling just the tiniest bit despite the ache. _I’m not alone, I’m not alone, I’m not alone._

“Thank you.”

Daichi leans forward and asks, “You write, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Yamaguchi replies, initially confused as to how the captain knows this fact until he remembers the train ride back from Sendai a month ago. He and the captain had talked about a lot of things, one of which was the first year’s writing hobby.

“I was thinking, since it’s kind of hard talking about, you could write about your experience and feelings,” the captain proposes, analyzing Yamaguchi’s reaction when the first year glances up. Yamaguchi quickly goes back to looking at his lap. “I read online that it could help, so that you don’t keep things bottled up.”

Can he really write about what happened? The permanence of writing something down weighs on his shoulders. How does he go about transcribing this fear? Is it supposed to be like a journal or diary? And what if somebody reads it?

“You should try it,” Tsukki says evenly.

Yamaguchi looks to him, thinking that he’s going to give an explanation, but is disappointed. Yamaguchi returns to his thoughts. There are things he can’t imagine ever saying out loud, so maybe writing them will be easier like Daichi said. Maybe he can write in third person and pretend like the things that happened to him happened to someone else entirely.

Tsukki paces over to his desk, pulling a composition notebook from a pile of papers and folders. “You can use this. It’s new,” he says, holding it out.

“Thanks, Tsukki.” Tears well in Yamaguchi’s eyes. Everyone’s so nice. He doesn’t deserve all of this kindness.

After talking for another thirty minutes or so, Daichi gets ready to leave, once more assuring Yamaguchi that everyone cares a great deal about him. Tsukki jumps up when Daichi rises and offers to walk the captain to the gate. There must be more that the blonde wants to talk about, but not in front of Yamaguchi. Sure enough, Tsukki’s gone for almost ten minutes and by the time he comes back, the brunette has already called his grandparents for a ride home. He usually doesn’t think twice about walking home from Tsukki’s, but he knows his friend will insist on walking with him tonight, and then who would there be to walk Tsukki back?

Barely five minutes pass before Yamaguchi gets a call to go downstairs. Tsukki walks him outside, stopping in the headlights of the parked car with an expression like he’s struggling to speak. Yamaguchi, notebook clutched to his chest like a lifeline, waits patiently for his friend to find the words he’s searching for. He almost smiles. Tsukki’s quips usually require little effort.

“Yamaguchi, I—” Tsukki says, pushing up his glasses and meeting Yamaguchi’s eyes. “I’m sorry. Everything that you’ve gone through… I’m sorry.”

On that chilly Wednesday night, in the illumination of a car’s headlights, Yamaguchi looks up into his best friend’s face to find tears glistening there. His breath catches. He’s never seen Tsukki cry before. Tsukki hates crying. Before the blonde can raise his arm to wipe the tears from his cheeks, Yamaguchi throws an arm around him, the other still cradling the notebook. He does his best to imbue this hug with all the reassurances he can’t speak.

_Thank you so much, Tsukki._

***

Yamaguchi awakes in pitch blackness, not knowing where he is, terror gripping him. Body drenched in sweat and heart pounding in his chest, he jumps up and flicks on the light. Still the taste of fear lingers on his tongue, so he scans his room just to make sure he’s alone and there’s nothing hiding in the shadows. The time on his alarm clock reads 2:47 AM.

After a second look, he resigns himself to the fact that he’s alone, trudging back to his bed and sitting cross-legged with his blankets wrapped around him. _Calm down, calm down_ , he tells himself as he tries to banish all remnants of the nightmare he’d been having. Yamaguchi puts a hand over his mouth, fingers trembling. _Did he make Suga-san do that too? Give out instructions for Suga-san to follow too?_ Yamaguchi brings his knees up and curls into the smallest ball he can manage. _Probably not. The state Suga-san was in at the hospital, he probably fought back a lot. I didn’t. I don’t even have one bruise to prove that I tried._

He thought he’d already cried all his tears away trying to tell his grandparents what happened. He’d managed to get two sentences across, but, fortunately, they didn’t need to hear anymore to know, and they wrapped him in their arms as he cried. He felt like a child in the sense that he felt protected and safe.

Yamaguchi thought he was done crying, but apparently not. He tries to be quiet, so as not to wake his grandparents, both hands firmly fitted over his mouth. The thought of going to school tomorrow and seeing his teammates’ faces change from determined optimism to whatever it will be when he tells them is disheartening. The thought of going to school and running into Nakamura-sensei in the hallway is terrifying. He tries to make himself smaller.

The first year stays that way for almost an hour. When he finally unfolds himself, his body is tired from crying but he’s too wary of sleep and nightmares to lay his head down and close his eyes, so Yamaguchi desperately searches for distractions to keep himself awake. He reads a few chapters of a novel on his bookshelf. He does sit-ups. He paces the length of his bedroom. He watches really old, nostalgic music videos on YouTube. All the while glancing at where the composition notebook Tsukki gave him is sitting on his desk.

Every time Yamaguchi approaches the notebook, he has second thoughts about committing these things to paper. He can’t even articulate what’s in his head, so sentences on paper won’t even be coherent. He’d just mess up whatever he’d tried to write, so it’s better to wait until things make more sense. _Right?_ Yamaguchi passes up the notebook for what feels like the thousandth time, his alarm blaring through the silence, making him jump.

Morning.

He leans against his window, peering out at the light just barely peeking over the mountains. Despite his alarm, he’s usually never up early enough to see this, pressing snooze at least three times before getting out of bed.

It’s weird.

Yesterday morning, and every day before it, feel like memories from somebody else’s life.

_Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yamaguchi Tadashi, Yamaguchi Tadashi. I’m still the same me I was yesterday. I’m still the same person. First year at Karasuno High. Number twelve, pinch server. Tsukishima Kei’s friend. I like writing and I like volleyball. I suck at English, but do good in other subjects. I’m still the same me. Yamaguchi Tadashi._

_“What’s your name, son?”_

Yamaguchi flinches when the unbidden voice resounds again in his head. He releases a few sardonic chuckles as he crumbles to the floor below his window, eyes glazing over with the memories.

It’s weird.

Out of all the mornings in his life, he’s never hated one more than this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I wanted the apology scene outside Tsukki's house to be a 'moment' you know?  
> -that being said, I only ship Tsukkiyama platonically, so I don't want anyone to get their hopes up for a Tsukkiyama ending  
> -also, fuck nakamura, obviously  
> -I started the next chapter when I was procrastinating editing this one, and I just want to say that chpt 15 ends on a positive cliffhanger


	15. Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -the queen of inconsistent updates is back with a double update (has hell frozen over????)  
> -this chapter contains flashbacks to the rape and anxiety

It’s a while before Yamaguchi stands and turns off his alarm. He showers and dresses, not letting his eyes linger on any part of his body for too long, movements slow and aching as he waits for this morning’s pain killers to kick in. The kitchen is filled with the smell of brewing coffee and the sound of his grandparents’ warm voices. They sit at the small table pouring over a mystery novel, his grandfather reading aloud to his grandmother, only looking up when Yamaguchi steps across the threshold nervously. Expressions of surprise flit across both of their faces before smiles settle there.

“You’re out of bed?” his grandmother asks, and noting the bag slung over his shoulder, continues, “You’re going to school today?”

“You’re so brave,” his grandfather adds, serving breakfast onto a plate and placing it in Yamaguchi’s hands. “You remind me of your father more and more every day.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes go wide _. Like his father?_ His father was a firefighter—basically superhero status to his younger self—someone he couldn’t imagine ever being like. That was fine, being afraid and ordinary completely okay when his dad was alive to protect him and Yamaguchi didn’t need to be his own superhero. But now the idea of being like his dad seems like more of an insult to his dad than a compliment to him.

He wants to tell them that no, no he’s not brave, but so, so afraid. Afraid of being alone for even a minute, and afraid of the quiet, and that’s why he’s going to school—to be around noise and people and distraction, though, a part of him also suspects that once he gets there he won’t know how to act. His intentions aren’t to conquer his fears or face the person who hurt him. _I’m definitely not brave._

“We love you no matter what. I hope you know that.”

Yamaguchi eats slowly, forcing himself to chew even though the food’s tasteless and heavy in his mouth because he saw what not eating did to Suga. It’s difficult, though, because each bite makes him self-conscious. He keeps thinking that everyone can tell what happened just by looking at him. That they’ll know he just scrunched his eyes shut and did what that damn voice told him to do.

_“Open your mouth.”_

_“If you bite me, I’ll bite you.”_

_“Use your tongue.”_

_“Yes. Like that.”_

_“Move your head.”_

It was so gross and humiliating even though no one else saw.

One of the first things Nakamura did was confirm that he had raped Suga, which only made controlling Yamaguchi through fear that much easier. He had thought about Suga, beaten and left for dead, and the first year was gripped with a fear strong enough to overpower his shame. _That teacher… Why did he do this? What was the point? Was it really that fun taking my body, making me cry and beg? Am I a joke to him?_ Not a person. Just a body enveloped in a skin Yamaguchi wishes he could discard as thoroughly as the wrapping paper on Christmas.

“When you’re ready to talk, we’re here to listen,” his grandfather says, breaking through the silence.

He doesn’t know when he’ll be ready to talk. But he whispers, “Okay,” and moves to wash his dishes and finish getting ready for school. Despite the medicine, his muscles feel stiff so it takes longer than usual. 

Waving goodbye from the doorway, he trudges out to meet Tsukki who’s waiting at the street.

His friend scans him up and down, causing Yamaguchi to stumble under his gaze. “Did you sleep at all?”

Yamaguchi hums, not sure whether he intends it to be interpreted as a _yes_ or a _no_. Luckily, his ambiguity is left unchallenged and they walk the rest of the way in silence, reaching the school grounds in no time; however, Yamaguchi’s breathing quickens, seemingly to contrast the slowing of his steps. The act of fleeing last night is hazy, the details of making his way through the school hallways mostly missing. He wasn’t really rational—he went back for his bag but forgot his uniform, left the safety of the team behind but went straight to Tsukki’s house. He clearly remembers running, though. He remembers running for what felt like hours, the adrenaline enough to mask his pain.

“Did it happen here?” Tsukki asks quietly.

Yamaguchi glances up at his friend and then away quickly.

 _“If you think about opening your mouth about this, you should be prepared for the consequences. If you can’t convince the police and the courts of what I did to you—if they don’t lock me up behind bars—I_ will _come for you. I’ll come for round two. You should just keep that pretty mouth shut.”_

His skin crawls. How do people do it? There are people that speak up against vile people like Nakamura, but he’s not brave like them. He wants to be. He wants to prove his grandpa right, so, despite his overwhelming wariness, he nods. His hesitance probably gave it away anyways. He knows Tsukki will be thinking about what it means and who it could be, putting two and two together. But if he can start with a nod, then maybe he’ll get to the point where he can speak out against that teacher. 

“Tell me if you feel uncomfortable or scared, okay?” Tsukki says.

“Yeah,” the brunette manages.

When the team is told that morning, they all react like they did upon hearing about Suga, disbelief and sadness polluting the air. Even though Daichi is the one to deliver the news, every face turns toward Yamaguchi. It’s weird being on the other side of this gaze now. Heavy.

“Yamaguchi,” Hinata says in a tone so serious that the pinch server is startled into meeting his eye. The orange-haired spiker walks over to Yamaguchi, sitting down right in front of him and stirring up a few murmurs of curiosity from the other team members. “It’s not your fault,” he says. “I don’t know if you think that, but it’s not. Remember when we talked about all the things we wished we could say to Suga-san?”

They’ve talked about Suga tons of times, but Yamaguchi knows Hinata is referring to the time when just the first years were gathered in the clubroom. It was only a few days after Suga attempted suicide and the four of them were commiserating their failed attempts at helping Suga, thinking that if they’d tried a little harder, it would have worked out. Then the conversation turned to what they should have said and what they still wanted to say. _We need you here. We want you here. It’s not your fault. We miss you. We want to help you. You’ve helped us so much. We’re sorry. We care about you. Please don’t go._

“It all applies to you too. So, don’t go anywhere.”

“Wow, Hinata,” Kageyama says quietly. “That’s actually…”

“Beautiful,” Asahi finishes with a sniffle.

“I’m sorry about what happened,” Ennoshita says, seeking out Yamaguchi’s eyes.

“If you need anything…” Yachi adds, tears streaming down her face. She starts crying in earnest, Shimizu folding her into her arms and patting her head.

“We’re here for you,” Kageyama assures him. He stretches out a hand and Yamaguchi only hesitates a moment before taking it, feeling the setter squeeze lightly. _Everyone’s so kind. They’re always kind, but especially now. Do I really deserve all of this?_ He’s in process of nodding in thanks to Kageyama when the setter tries to smile comfortingly, but it’s not comforting at all.

Hinata elbows him, whispering, “Your ‘nice’ face is scary. Stop it.”

Kageyama blushes heavily. “My face isn’t scary.”

“Yamaguchi!” Tanaka and Noya cry together, and Ennoshita grabs them before they can rush any closer.

“Don’t overwhelm him,” Ennoshita scolds.

“We’ll do anything for you, Yamaguchi,” Tanaka announces, and then thinks. “Well, if it’s something we can do.”

“Okay. Let’s let him breathe. We should set up for practice,” Daichi says, ushering them away. Before he goes more than a few paces, he turns back to Yamaguchi. “Why don’t you take it easy today?” Daichi says. “You shouldn’t push yourself too hard.”

Yamaguchi nods. Tsukki catches his eye from a few paces away and the brunette nods to him too. _Yeah, I’m okay, Tsukki_. He slides down the wall next to the water bottles, picking up his notebook. Sometimes, he thinks that if he carries this around long enough, he’ll find the courage to write in it. Resting his chin on his knees, the first year watches volleyballs fly through the air and listens to the routine shouts of praise and criticism. Honestly, it’s a relief, not having to practice today. He’s so tired. Also, with everyone busy, Yamaguchi is free to be around the team without worrying about answering or avoiding questions.

***

Daichi rides the elevator up to the fifth floor of the hospital, feeling like the weight of yesterday should be enough to sink the elevator to the ground floor. So, when the bell dings and the doors open up to a pristine hallway, he steps out gratefully. Suga’s room is at the end of the long hallway, so as he passes the nurses’ station, several of them wave and smile, accustomed to seeing him so often. Most days he doesn’t meet anyone here. Suga’s mom is still working like crazy and his dad has been putting in extra hours at work to help with the increasing medical bills. The team stops by once a week.

Daichi’s parents still aren’t happy about him spending so much of his free time at the hospital, but he’s been careful to keep his grades up, not wanting to give any credence to his parents’ worries. It doesn’t stop them from worrying and it doesn’t stop them from calling his teachers to check in on his academics. They’ve even arranged a dinner with one of his dad’s old college friends to talk about internships and Daichi’s future, which the captain is dreading. Very much. _But that’s a week away and a lot can happen in a week. Maybe I’ll have my life figured out by then._

_Yeah. Just keep lying to yourself, Daichi._

He plops down into the chair at Suga’s bedside. “Hey, Suga. I don’t know how to tell you this—don’t know if I should—but yesterday, Yamaguchi was raped.”

He swallows. It isn’t any easier saying this to an unconscious Suga than it was telling the team earlier. The reality behind the word carries a weight Daichi can’t even imagine, so maybe that’s why he stumbles on it, why he searches for euphemisms to make saying it a little more bearable.

“We’re all trying our best to help him…like we couldn’t help you.” Daichi breathes. “I really wish you’d wake up.” _I really need you._ He admits, “I don’t know how to keep the team from falling apart. Tsukishima’s angry at me, which I get, but it’s still hard. Nishinoya’s angry at everything. Even though Hinata put up a strong front in front of Yamaguchi, he approached me at lunch with the worry that it was his fault, that if he had received Asahi’s spike correctly yesterday, then Yamaguchi wouldn’t have left practice and none of this would have happened. Do you know how long it took me to convince him that none of this was his fault? And Asahi is taking it really hard too. He felt a responsibility to protect everyone too, you know? He’s going to spend next week in Hokkaido at his cousin’s place, I think because he needs some time, though that’s not what he says.

“That’s on top of everything Yamaguchi’s feeling. I have no idea what I’m doing right now. I think a part of me is still just trying to wait you out, Suga. How should I be helping as a captain?”

Last night’s conversation with Tsukishima springs to mind. He grimaces, regretting how he handled the situation, thinking that he should have been more understanding of the blonde’s perspective.

_He knew something was strange when Tsukishima offered to walk him to the gate. Just before their destination, the middle blocker took ahold of Daichi’s collar and pushed him against the fence. He felt his shoulders hit before his head, and he grit his teeth to stop himself from shoving back._

_“Tell me everything you know,” Tsukishima demanded, eyes burning with a fire he’d never seen before. Yet, Daichi could see the younger teen was more desperate than he wanted to let on, body and voice shaking despite the scorching glare._

_“Let go of me,” Daichi said, returning the blonde’s stare._

_“You know more about what’s going on but you won’t tell us_ underlings _,” Tsukishima was quick to say. “Do you think we’re stupid, Daichi-san?”_

_Daichi didn’t flinch. He repeated, “Let go of me.” He could have pushed Tsukishima away easily. It was obvious the boy’s resolve wasn’t that strong to begin with, but he didn’t want to escalate things. That, and a part of him wanted to save face in front of his kouhai (he was the captain, damn it). Daichi settled for setting his jaw and holding Tsukishima’s gaze until the middle blocker was the first to break away._

_The first year took a few steps back, stuffing his hands in his pockets and asking, “Happy now?”_

_“It’s not something that would have stopped this,” Daichi sighed, crossing his arms. “Suga asked me to keep things between us.”_

_“This is not just Sugawara’s problem anymore!” Tsukishima spat passionately._

_“I don’t have any special information like you think I do. All I know is that it happened before,” Daichi        said, holding his head and wondering if his earlier decision to keep this to himself was really that wrong. “He was raped before. Suga didn’t tell me where, he didn’t tell me when, and he definitely didn’t tell me who. If I knew who did this, do you really think I would sit back and do nothing?”_

_The porchlight cast their shadows dark against the fence, natural starlight and moonlight hidden by clouds. The wind blew as if teasing a storm, but Tsukishima didn’t speak. He stood there and pursed his lips, a sarcastic look in his eyes that Daichi couldn’t immediately understand. Then it hit him like the rush of wind did soon after._

_Daichi shivered. He shook his head deliberately and whispered, “Don’t you put this on him. He was trying his best just to make it through each day. He was struggling so much he tried to_ kill himself _. Suga shouldn’t hold the responsibility for that bastard’s actions.”_

_The other teen frowned, kicking the cement beneath his shoe. “I don’t blame him. Not really. But I can’t go on hoping everything’s going to be okay with no evidence and no information and no promise this won’t happen again.”_

_“Tsukishima...”_

_“I’m frustrated. I’m pissed off. Someone hurt Yamaguchi and I’m afraid to ask him what happened, because I’m afraid he’s going to do something stu—something like Suga, and that_ can’t _happen.” Tsukishima stopped to catch his breath. “He’ll barely even look at me. I need something to do that isn’t sitting here waiting for that bastard to happen to get caught.”_

_Just then, Daichi saw Tsukishima’s sadness more clearly than ever. He placed a hand on the blonde’s shoulder. “Tsukishima. Yamaguchi trusts you so much. Do you realize that? He respects and trusts you enough to come to you first, right after it happened.” Daichi’s grip tightened. “You need something to do right now? Then tell me why you’ve spent the past five minutes arguing with me when he’s up there waiting for you?”_

_Tsukishima drew back. He didn’t reply but his frown deepened, gaze losing its focus behind his glasses._

_His words hit below the belt, but it wasn’t something he felt bad about saying until hours later. At the time, all he was thinking was that he’d give anything for five more minutes with Suga._

Maybe it was his pride, but the captain couldn’t admit to Tsukishima that he felt just as helpless most of the time. He wishes he could have stopped what happened to Yamaguchi from happening.

Daichi stands, not wanting to burden Suga with all of this. He touches his fingertips to the back of the setter’s hand, Suga’s idle face framed by silver hair slightly longer than he usually wore it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Letting out a quiet sigh, he closes the door to Suga’s room slowly and checks the time to see if there’s still time to kill before going home.

“Ah, Daichi,” Suga’s mom exclaims when she sees him, hurrying to close the distance. Her husband follows, looking just as relieved to see the teen. “There’s something we need to talk to you about.”

***

He spends the weekend at Tsukki’s house working on homework and trying not to think about the things Nakamura did, though he hasn’t been successful on either front. He doesn’t have any idea what he wants to write his research paper on. And he keeps thinking about _it_.

Daichi sent him some links to sites designed to help rape survivors and share stories, but all Yamaguchi has done so far is stare at the message. What are these websites supposed to give him? He’s wary of other people’s stories. He knows that’s not the only reason he’s avoided clicking on the links, but it’s enough to justify himself for now. He’s glad the captain hasn’t asked him about it.

“Hey, Yamaguchi,” Tsukki says.

Yamaguchi finds it easier to look at people the more he tries, though his voice is something he’s still worried about. He tries to speak simply and concisely where he can. _I won’t let myself become any more annoying to Tsukki or anyone else._

“If you need anything, just say so.”

Yamaguchi bites down on the inside of his cheek.

How can the brunette speak so casually when every syllable uttered is a reminder of the repulsive betrayal his tongue committed?

Yamaguchi flicks his gaze back to his closed laptop, mouth pulled into a heavy frown. _I don’t care about this research paper and I don’t care  if I fail. I can’t focus right now. I can’t focus on anything. You need to focus, Tadashi._ _School is important_ , he tries to tell himself firmly. But his body remembers.

Sometimes, the way that the light enters a dark room through the crack in the door, or the smell when dusty papers settle, or a laugh or a hand on his shoulder—sometimes they all remind him of that evening. Sometimes it brings the images and feelings to life again too clearly. Sometimes he can’t figure out the cause.

And he wears the memories like a second layer of skin, everything—every unwanted moan nestled against his neck, every strand of hair yanked from his scalp, every threat and every sigh, every “ _fuck/fucked/fucking”_ that tumbled from Nakamura’s mouth—making him want so badly to remove this outer layer so that that there’s nothing but his flesh underneath. It’s a decidedly gruesome image, he supposes, but nothing crueler than what’s already happened.

“I don’t know what I need,” Yamaguchi says, surprising himself. He buries his nose in the crook of his elbow so that his voice is muffled. “Everyone keeps saying that but I don’t know.” His voice fades to a soft whisper by the end.

“Well,” Tsukki says, “until you figure it out, I’ll just keep reminding you.”

Yamaguchi shifts so that he can peek at Tsukki only to find the blonde staring back with a look that says _I’m not sorry about it._ Yamaguchi sighs.

He spends the rest of the weekend wondering if he’ll ever feel okay talking about it. He wants to forget entirely. The problem is that despite all his avoidance, he’s remembering things he blocked out. They return to him in nightmares and random flashes.

He awakes from a nightmare a little past three on Monday morning, drenched in sweat, heart beating erratically, and skin on fire. There’s so many things that he doesn’t want to remember, like the man’s tongue in his ear, the thrusts that split him open, fingernails digging into his hips... Nakamura saying things that made him feel small—made him want to disappear.

And no. No! He isn’t going to think about this. Not when he’s alone and it’s dark. He peels the damp clothes from his body, shivering as the air assaults his slick skin. He’s sick of the nightmares which are based in reality. Yamaguchi spends all day running from the memories only to have to relive them at night. It’s not fair.

He’s unable to fall back asleep, so when Yamaguchi meets his best friend a few hours later in front of his house, the blonde’s first question is if he slept at all. He tries to laugh it off and his friend lets him for now, instead changing the subject to the fact that he’ll be missing afternoon practice. Dentist appointment. Tsukki asked Hinata and Daichi to look after Yamaguchi, both having readily agreed via text. Part of the brunette feels incredibly babied learning this. The other part of him feels grateful and even cracks a smile imagining Tsukki texting Hinata, the latter probably using lots of emojis and exclamation marks. Tsukki hates that.

Before Yamaguchi can join morning practice, Daichi pulls him aside. “Have you been eating and sleeping?” the captain asks with a worried expression. Though Yamaguchi answers with a decisive nod, Daichi doesn’t look convinced. “I know this may be a little harsh, given the circumstances, but you don’t look well. You look exhausted. I’m not comfortable letting you practice like this.”

The brunette can only nod and reply with, “Okay,” because if he looks half as bad as he feels then he should have seen this coming. He’s so tired. He hasn’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time since that evening.

“No one wants you to get hurt,” Daichi explains as if Yamaguchi put up an argument.

“Okay,” he repeats.

He starts to head toward his usual spot beside the water bottles when Daichi stops him with a tap on the arm. “If you need to use this time to sleep, don’t hesitate. You won’t get in trouble and no one will bother you here. This gym is a safe place.”

Yamaguchi’s eyes widen in genuine surprise. _So many accommodations made for me._ He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to pay everyone back, and he’s not sure if he’ll take advantage of all of this, but he’s grateful. And he’s grateful to the team for supporting him with nothing but kindness. And—he hastily blinks away tears, turning his face away from the captain who has no doubt already seen. _Don’t get emotional now, Tadashi. Relax._

***

The orange-haired spiker shows up at Yamaguchi’s class as soon as the bell rings as if he teleported, poking his head across the threshold and waving. Following Hinata to the clubroom where Kageyama nods in greeting, Yamaguchi changes despite not being allowed to practice. Yamaguchi sits the corner of the gym with his notebook. Kageyama and Hinata are practicing together before the others show up. The freckled boy likes watching them, something about their single-minded passion inspiring, and it makes it easy remembering what the team was like before Nakamura came into their lives. He sometimes thinks the world could be ending around them and Hinata would still be asking Kageyama for a toss and Yamaguchi doesn’t find that weird or wrong, but comforting because through it all they still manage to stay themselves.

For a moment, he lets himself enjoy this, but inevitably his calm is washed over by his anxiety. Yamaguchi can’t stop his mind from traveling down the most morbid paths, and he can’t stop himself from worrying about his future even though he is not motivated to do any schoolwork. _School is important. I’ve got to focus. I’ve got to—I can’t focus,_ he thinks as pushes the heels of his palms into his eyes. “I can’t do it,” he croaks. There’s so much he’s been trying to avoid these past few days. He feels his body twist in agitation in a distant sort of way, as if it belongs to someone else.

_Why can’t I just get past this? Why can’t I stop thinking about Nakamura? Why can’t I stop hearing that man’s voice in every silence? What’s wrong with me?_

This skin feels so heavy and wrong. He doesn’t feel like he belongs in it. The urge to peel it from his flesh overtakes him, and he scrunches his eyes shut because it hurts so much. _Don’t touch me. Don’t touch me._ It all hurts so much, he just wants to be rid of it. Silence pounds unevenly in his ears. The surface of his skin burns. _Don’t touch me. Just let me go._ It’s as if he can feel the hands on his body again, like he’s in that storage closet again, so he struggles this time, promising himself that he’ll fight this time even if it’s only with his memory. Don’t touch—let go. A newfound strength flows down to his fingertips.

“Yamaguchi!” a voice yells. It sounds close and far away at the same time. “Stop! Please! Wake up!”

Then he recognizes the voice as it pierces through the ringing in his ears. He stops struggling, opening his eyes to see Hinata crouched over him, face crumpled in fear, Kageyama standing a few paces behind, gripping a volleyball tightly. The brunette feels his heart beat in his throat, tears dotting his eyelashes.

“Yamaguchi?” Hinata squeals. “Were you dreaming? You really—Uh, you were scratching yourself.”

“I—” Yamaguchi peers down and jaw drops. His arms and legs are covered in long scratch marks, blood beading through his skin in some places and collecting underneath his fingernails. He releases a yelp of fear. His hands did this—his own hands. He was so caught up in his own head that he didn’t even feel it, didn’t notice that he’d hurt himself.

How terrifying.

His mind goes crazy, frantically trying to figure what he needs to do to fix this. Pretending like this never happened is not going to work. It didn’t work for Suga, and so far, it hasn’t been working for him. He doesn’t know what to do. _But I have to do something. To start, I should cut my nail even shorter, just to be safe. And I—_

“Yamaguchi,” Hinata breaks through his internal ramblings. “Do you want to join us? You could toss us the balls. It doesn’t require a lot of movement, so I don’t think Daichi-san will mind.”

The brunette stares for probably too long, wondering how they can be so patient and nice with him when he hasn’t been himself lately. Casting his gaze instead at his own hands and the blood drying there underneath his fingernails, Yamaguchi decides that he’s going to do something. He takes Hinata’s outstretched hand and nods.

Kageyama and Hinata and Tsukki—they’re like anchors when the rest of the world seems to be the ocean writhing under a canvas of dark storm clouds. If they just stay the way they are, Yamaguchi is sure he’ll have something to swim back to, something to steady himself when those memories threaten to drown him.

That night, after eating a small dinner, he enters into his room feeling tired and lonely. The dark only presses the nauseating feelings close to his chest, so he switches on his bedroom light. _I can’t sleep. I’m scared to be alone. I keep remembering. I keep wanting to rip myself apart. I need… I need to do something. I’ll do something to change things. No nightmares tonight. Even if I have to trick my brain_. He grabs his laptop and sprawls out on his bed. He finds the email Daichi sent with all the links. Looking over his shoulder as if anyone’s there to see, Yamaguchi sucks in a deep breath and clicks on the first link.

***

“Yamaguchi, what are you writing your paper on?” Tsukki asks during break Tuesday morning.

“I haven’t decided yet,” Yamaguchi replies, only half paying attention to the conversation, the other part of his mind busy counting the nicks and scratches on his desk. It’s all he can do to keep himself awake. He succeeded in his goal of not having a nightmare last night by not sleeping at all. An idea that seemed to be good at the time, proved more draining than anything. He spent the night reading self-help articles and stories written by people with the same experience as him. There was so much to read and at first Yamaguchi felt kind of numb to it. He wasn’t sure if the sheer number of times he read _‘it’s not your fault’_ would ever make it feel wholly true, but by morning his reaction to seeing those words became a little less skeptical.

The personal anecdotes made him cry. The thoughts and feelings were too reminiscent of his own to distance himself from. He cried because this happened to so many other people. He cried because this happened to himself. He cried because these people were officially braver than he was and Yamaguchi felt like he was right to believe he would never reach his father’s status. _I can’t even fight the fires in my own head, let alone put my story out there to help others._

It wasn’t until right before dawn when he realized that instead of lamenting his lack of courage or initiative, he should feel inspired by their stories. It was around then—eyes straining with exhaustion, but determined to stay awake at that point—that he stumbled across the video of a poem. It wasn’t like the predictably structured ones he had to read in Japanese Lit class, but wild and unapologetically blunt, author speaking each word like song lyrics. That one got him hooked—awakened a genuine curiosity in him he thought he’d lost—and he searched out more of these poems. They were about all kinds of topics.

“What?” Tsukishima asks, surprised, drawing him back to the present. “We have to turn in our topics and a preliminary outline tomorrow.”

Yamaguchi shrugs. Despite his breakthrough in finding something to care about, he still hasn’t found the will to care about his assignments.

 _Thirty-six._ There are thirty-six imperfections. What a beat up old desk. _Still sturdy though._

“Do you need help?”

“No,” he replies simply, closing his eyes lightly, remembering something he saw somewhere about “micro-sleeps” and hoping that they’re a real phenomenon. The back of his neck aches. He’s so exhausted he feels like his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets, and he wants to sleep, but he’s afraid he’ll have a nightmare and wake up panicky and sweaty.

Last night, he found some great poems, and there were more, in other languages that he didn’t get the chance to read or watch performances of. There’s a video he likes of this guy reciting his poem. Only, it’s in English and he sucks at English, so he’s only been able to translate a few lines and he’s not sure how right he is. He doesn’t trust Google Translate to do justice to the rest. After hearing the author read his poem in such a passionate way, foreign words flying from his mouth like birds breaking free of their cage towards the end, Yamaguchi decided he needed to know what it all meant. He watched the poem over and over, in awe at the man’s gestures—the way his eyelids fluttered closed and his hands rose at certain parts, the way his eyebrows crept up and his mouth formed the words. And the way he spoke… the way he spoke without fear or reservations.

“Actually Tsukki, there is something I need help with,” Yamaguchi finds himself saying, sitting up straight. A voice in his head pipes up: _you’re going to bother him with this? Do you know how troublesome it will be for him? This situation is still redeemable if you just stop talking now. Just shut up. You should_ —he cuts through the thoughts when he meets Tsukki’s gaze and finds a rare sincerity there. Yamaguchi breathes. “But not with the paper. Um, there’s this poem.”

Tsukki’s eyebrows rise. “Poem?”

“Yeah. I think it could help me, but it’s in English and I’m having trouble understanding it.” The pinch server laughs nervously. His heart is racing just from asking this favor, and he’s thinking about all the ways Tsukki can turn him down or scoff at his desire to understand this poem.

“Okay,” Tsukki agrees, nodding. “Okay. During lunch, I’ll work on translating this poem and you can work on finding a paper topic.”

Yamaguchi grimaces. Of course there is a condition, but he supposes he can’t avoid it because Tsukki won’t let him fail any subjects. He’ll just have to work hard to find a topic, and create an outline—and it’s a lot to do in one day—but he at least has a small motivation now.

“Thanks, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says. He lays his palm flat against his composition notebook, thinking, _I’m going to get there. I will. I don’t have any idea how—maybe it’s just wishful thinking—but I’m going to be like them. I want to write a poem about this mess inside my brain and chest, something meant to be read aloud without any shame or reservations holding it back_. His throat tightens just thinking about it.

_That’s where I want to be._

_That’s how I’ll reclaim my voice and this skin._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I'm way too into slam poetry for my own good, so is Yamaguchi


	16. 'It's Me'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

Daichi spends the weekend obsessing over the photo Suga’s parents showed him on Thursday. It seemed to be part of a longer message that was smeared. It was shocking, seeing that kanji character written Suga’s script, in Suga’s own blood. The kanji itself is familiar too, making up the “mura” of his name, but he doesn’t think Suga’s message is about him, because why wouldn’t he just write _Daichi_? If only he knew what the rest of the message said. What was Suga thinking before he lost consciousness? Daichi doesn’t know that this clue has anything to do with the setter’s rape, but seeing as it was the last thing he wrote before what was supposed to be his death, it has to be important. _What an understatement._

Sunday night, when Tsukishima texts him to ask him to walk Yamaguchi home tomorrow, Daichi decides to tell the blonde about the photo. It’s important enough to maybe make a difference, and besides, two heads are better than one, not to mention Yamaguchi may have told the middle blocker something that’s related to this symbol. Daichi does his best to explain the situation through several long texts, disappointed when he’s met with no response for fifteen minutes. Even then, Tsukishima only replies with the single word: _interesting_.

Daichi stares at that one word, holding his breath and waiting for a second response. When none comes, the captain’s lip curls into a disbelieving smile and his hands ball into fists, almost too dumbfounded to be angry. _After everything I told him, that’s how he responds? ‘Interesting?’_ Shaking his head, Daichi resigns himself to the fact that Tsukishima’s feigned callousness is just a part of his personality and that it’s pointless getting offended. That’s just Tsukishima.

***

He keeps the kanji in the back of his mind, even as he tries to act normal. Daichi feels guilty that he’s fixating on the meaning of this one character so much with everything that’s still going on, but that’s just where his mind goes when there’s idle time. He wonders about it at the hospital with Suga, or at night, or on the way to class. _What the hell does it mean?_

Then, at other times, his thoughts turn to the setter in general. Monday’s afternoon classes roll around and Daichi finds himself daydreaming about Suga waking up from the coma. Face leaning on his propped up arm, he conjures up an entire scenario that features himself sitting at the vice-captain’s bedside, holding his hand like usual, and then Suga opening his eyes slowly. And after blinking a few times, he’d see Daichi sitting there and he’d smile that sunlight smile. Daichi would welcome him back, and probably cry, and they’d talk about _everything_. Daichi knows this isn’t realistic, but he still gets really into the idea, grinning and feeling warmer.

His smile wavers when the person to his right taps him on his shoulder and he’s suddenly yanked from his daydream. He glances around to make sure no one saw, but everyone is already peering at him, including Nakamura-sensei, who’s sporting an incredulous expression. A few students whisper behind their hands to each other. Daichi braces himself, knowing he won’t have time to apologize before the oncoming lecture.

“Sorry to interrupt what seem to be some very pleasant thoughts, Sawamura, and I’m sorry you seem to find my lecture so boring in contrast, but you are expected to know this for the test.” Nakamura’s tone flows from patronizing to metallic seamlessly. “I suggest you get your head out of the clouds and pay attention, unless of course, you’re aiming to fail. Or would you rather share with us what you were daydreaming about?”

Daichi swallows, thinking, _definitely not._ He was daydreaming about his comatose friend waking up after more than a month and their happy reunion despite how crappy things are right now.

“Still half asleep?” Nakamura asks, apparently expecting some sort of response. “Why don’t you stand for the rest of class? Then you won’t be tempted to doze off again.”

“Yes, sir,” he says from his seat in the back, projecting to the front. Daichi blows out a huge breath and rises from his chair silently cursing Nakamura’s smirking face. _What a sadist._ The man didn’t have to do all this—could have just told him to pay attention—but he loves being an asshole. He’s notorious for being brutal and nitpicky when it comes to tests and homework and over the top when it comes to punishments. Daichi was spacing out for a second. He remembers when Suga actually fell asleep in class, Nakamura…

Nakamura-sensei didn’t say anything to Suga then, did he? But he did ask the setter to stay after class. A bad feeling creeps up on him as he thinks back to that time, remembering that he thought it was strange that Suga didn’t get chewed out publicly. He didn’t think much of it at the time. Suga had grabbed onto his sleeve and asked him to wait outside, and… what else? That was almost two months ago. Daichi’s struggling to remember the details because he didn’t think they were important then, and now his mind is shouting _mura, mura, mura, Nakamura!_

He suddenly feels cold and hollowed out, his eyes fixated on the teacher at the chalkboard, trying to discern any truth from his paranoia. Maybe it’s not paranoia. Maybe Daichi should have been more suspicious all along. He did theorize that it could be someone at school, and if it were a teacher—someone in a position of power—it would be easy to get a student alone, and to threaten them into silence with all sorts of things.

Part of him really doesn’t want it to be true, because then that would mean he’s spent almost every day of the past two months sitting in the same room as Suga’s rapist, as Yamaguchi’s would-be rapist. He doesn’t want it to be true because there were other times Nakamura asked Suga to stay after class, weren’t there? There were times when his silver-haired friend was called up to the board and the teacher put his hands on the teen so casually. Every day Suga came to school and had to see Nakamura.

And Yamaguchi. Daichi’s not sure how he got Yamaguchi alone with him, but it had to have been after school last Wednesday when the freckled boy was sent to the nurse’s office. And this bastard’s been standing here like he’s done nothing, fucking smirking and—

_Calm down. You can’t let on that you suspect anything if it’s really him_. He reigns in his heartbeat and tempers his glare.

Daichi doesn’t have any proof. Before he goes around shouting that Nakamura-sensei’s a rapist and a danger he needs something more. One more thing. One more thing so that he can erase the last shred of doubt and hesitance in his own mind. If it really is Nakamura-sensei, then it’s dangerous to be around him, but he can’t afford to rush this and mess up an opportunity to get him locked up.

He decides.

He’ll take a day to watch Nakamura and figure out what to do next, and when the time’s up, regardless of if he’s gained any information, he’ll tell his theory to Suga’s parents.

***

Daichi spends the next day inventing reasons to walk past that classroom during breaks and lunchtime. He stops short of entering until he actually has to. After the day of contemplating, he decides that he’ll ask Yamaguchi a question, and only one so as not overwhelm him, though he can’t settle what it should be. It isn’t until just before entering the gym for afternoon practice that the captain decides. He steels himself and heads straight for the freckled boy.

“Yamaguchi, can I talk with you for a second?”

The first year looks up at him with serious eyes. “Yes,” he says, folding up a piece of paper and closing his composition book around it.

Daichi crouches down. “I want to ask you a question. Just one, and you see, I already have a guess. I’m looking to know if my theory is right or wrong.” He waits for a reaction, but only a slight anxiety flickers on an otherwise guarded face. It’s been difficult reading0 Yamaguchi lately. “Before I ask you, I want to let you know that I’m going to tell Suga’s mom my theory so that she can take action, but we won’t ask anything else of you.”

Yamaguchi swallows hard, and, staring down, he places his hand flat over the cover of his notebook. Eventually, he says, “Okay.”

Daichi takes a breath and asks, slowly and carefully, “Is the man who hurt you a teacher at Karasuno?”

Yamaguchi’s head snaps up, his eyes meeting the captain’s, and Daichi feels as if he’s been pushed hard in the chest. There’s something extremely physical about Yamaguchi’s stare. The sounds of the volleyball court fall away as he thinks, i _t has to be Nakamura._ He knows the pinch server must be holding back his own questions, but the intensity of that look is more than enough to answer Daichi’s question.

“ _Yes_ ,” Yamaguchi says, the word sounding like it jumped from his mouth against his will. The force of it cracks through Daichi’s thoughts, causing all noise and light to come flooding back, and it hits the teen that it truly is a teacher, and what other teacher would it be than Nakamura-sensei? The first year’s hand curls into a trembling fist over the notebook’s cover.

“Thank you,” Daichi says, mind starting to whir. It _is_ someone at school. It’s a teacher. _Yamaguchi, I’m sorry. Suga, I’m sorry. For not seeing this sooner._ “We’re going to do everything we can to stop him from hurting you or anyone else again. Will you tell the guys I’ll be right back?”

Keeping a calm mask in place even though Yamaguchi’s confirmation is acid stripping away his composure, his legs carry him from the gym, and he finds himself all but sprinting to the club room. Once there, he shuts the door behind him, letting out an uneven breath in the empty silence. He dials Suga’s mom, praying that she’s not at work right now because he needs someone to tell him he’s not crazy for suspecting Nakamura. Is he overthinking? Or is he not thinking enough?

_“Hello? Daichi-chan?”_ Suga’s mom answers, voice thick with sleep.

He suddenly feels guilty about calling her with only a theory. If it wasn’t work she was busy with, then of course she’d be sleeping given how many hours she’s been putting in lately. Still, it is something he’s found out. Yamaguchi confirmed it was a teacher, and no other teacher comes to mind when considering the clue “mura.”

“Nakamura-sensei,” Daichi says, almost tripping over his words. “I think it was Nakamura-sensei who did this.”

There’s a short pause in which Daichi—torn with this self-doubt, wanting to help desperately—reassess all of his assumptions, thinking maybe he is crazy.

_“Why do you think this besides the kanji?”_

He can’t tell what she’s thinking, her voice still sleep-tinged. Daichi paces the length of the club room, gathering his thoughts. “After Yamaguchi was attacked, I’ve been thinking more that it has to be somebody associated with the school. Before their rape, the last place anyone saw Suga and Yamaguchi was at school, after school.” It ends up sounding less assured and convincing than he planned. But he goes on, realizing how much he was blind to before. “And it’s more likely to be a teacher because Suga was driven to the mountain and not that many students have cars. Also, given how terrified both Suga and Yamaguchi were about naming their rapist, it would make sense if it were someone with power and influence.

“So, I thought it must be a teacher. Nakamura comes to mind because of the kanji spelling of his name, and because he’s our homeroom teacher. I remember him asking Suga to stay after a couple of times, and I don’t really know how Suga was after that, like what condition he was in, because I wasn’t looking out for that sort of thing.”

_“No one was looking out for that sort of thing. Of course we weren’t,”_ Suga’s mom says soothingly. _“Is there anything else you noticed? It could be the smallest thing.”_

“I just get a bad feeling when I’m around him. He’s always got this weird smile on his face... I don’t know. Am I crazy?”

_“I think your intuition is usually sound,”_ Suga’s mom responds after a long pause. _“And your reasoning…”_

“I asked my teammate if the person who hurt him was a teacher here at Karasuno and he said ‘yes.’”

_“Nakamura,”_ she says deliberately, as if invoking some kind of hex. _“Okay. Okay, I have some calls to make.”_

The tone of her voice sends shivers down Daichi’s spine. “Please keep me informed.”

_“I will. Be careful. You guys stick together and stay safe.”_

“We will,” Daichi responds confidently. Hanging up, he stares at his phone in awe at how things have changed once again. Getting that call from Tsukishima last Wednesday was difficult, to say the least, the fact that it was one of the first years making it hurt even more. Honestly, everything about the situation hurts. Now with this information, they can take more preventative measures, but if it’s a teacher who is the culprit then that’s an even bigger problem.

Daichi really wishes Asahi was here to talk to. He doesn’t want to call him if the ace’s intention really was to take a break from all this. He doesn’t want to burden the his friend when Asahi is trying to take care of himself. Daichi can only wish by the time the ace comes back, most of this will be behind them.

***

Later that night, Suga’s mom calls.

_“I’m sorry, Daichi. I couldn’t get anything changed tonight,”_ she says, voice washed in tiredness and bitterness. _“The police say that the evidence is too circumstantial, though they are adding his name to their ‘persons of interest’ list. As of now, they don’t have enough to go on.”_

Daichi’s hope wanes with each word she speaks. Not knowing how to respond, he just holds the phone tightly and nods to himself.

_“I didn’t do any better when I talked to the school. They can’t do anything without a report from the police or a complaint from a student or eyewitness. Are you sure your friend won’t say anything?”_

“I promised him I wouldn’t ask him for anything else,” Daichi says after a pause, part of him wishing he hadn’t made that promise. He can’t break it though. Given how much it seemed to take for Yamaguchi to say ‘yes,’ his attacker was a teacher, it doesn’t seem likely that he’ll make an official statement any time soon. Yamaguchi was shaking because of the simple question. Who knows what kind of memories it brought up. Daichi sighs. “He’s scared.”

_“After what Koushi did, I understand you being protective of him.”_

“I’m sorry.” Daichi lies down on his bed crossways, letting his head loll off.

_“You shouldn’t apologize. I’m not giving up yet,”_ she assures him and her voice no longer sounds bitter. _“I called a lawyer and scheduled appointment for later this week. There’s got to be something else we can do, some loophole or something, to get this man suspended at the very least. I just want him far away from you kids.”_

After Daichi hangs up, he doesn’t move for almost twenty minutes, not until his mom knocks, poking her head in to remind him about dinner on Thursday. Daichi groans and his mother shoots him a disapproving look. It turns out a week isn’t long enough to figure your life out, though in retrospect, he hasn’t spent any real time thinking about his future or anything far off since finding out about Suga’s message.

“You have something decent to wear?” she asks.

“Yes,” Daichi replies, sitting up properly. He rolls out his shoulders after having been lying in that weird position for so long.

“Daichi.”

“Hm?” he says still stretching, mind already thinking of ways to deal with all the questions he’s no doubt going to have to face on Thursday. He should come up with stock answers ahead of time.

“Are you taking care of yourself?” she asks, and when he focuses back on her, he finds her scanning him as if she’s taking note of aspect of his physical appearance.

Daichi’s taken aback by the out-of-the-blue question. His mother’s gaze is intent, and he feels the need to live up to expectation even if it’s just an act, so he spreads his arms wide and grins. “Yeah. I’m taking care of myself. I’m doing great.”

His mom doesn’t even blink, just narrows her eyes and says, “Do you want to try that again?”

The captain’s smile fades, his shoulders slump slightly, and he loses his grandiose tone when he replies with, “I’m fine, Mom. Really.” He wants it to be true, so isn’t that good enough? He twists the blankets in his lap as he tries to keep his expression from falling completely into a frown.

His mother sighs, expression unreadable. “Keep working hard, Daichi,” she says as she shuts the door. “Your father and I only want what’s best for you.”

And then the door snaps shut and Daichi’s left with this aching nostalgia. He longs for a past when things weren’t so awkward here all the time. A past, like middle school, when his mom didn’t work as much and the three of them laughed across the same dinner table, and when she asked him every day, “how was your day? How was school?” He misses the days when he didn’t lie to his parents. When he didn’t put up this mask or these walls to hide his true thoughts and feelings.

Everything’s changed so much.

Daichi thinks about his conversation with Suga’s mom, and a lot of their recent conversations. As great as she is, she’s not _his_ mom. Daichi misses the relationship he had with his mom, and he figures it’s too late now to get that back.

***

Tsukishima and Yamaguchi don’t show up to Wednesday morning’s practice. No one’s talked to them, and neither first year answers when he texts them at the end of practice. Daichi assumes they’re both together wherever they are— _home, right?_ —it’s just that he hopes he didn’t scare off Yamaguchi with his questions yesterday. Nothing else could have happened in the space of a day, right?

Daichi walks to his first class of the morning worried about Yamaguchi and lonely without Asahi. He instinctively slows his pace when passing Nakamura’s classroom, trying to peer through the open doorway subtly. The teacher is at his desk, marking up a stack of papers, looking like any teacher would. Daichi supposes he’s not going to find the man rubbing his hands together and cackling like a villain. Nakamuras avoided getting caught for all this time—of course he won’t be obvious.

Sighing, he passes the classroom. He’s not going to be able to change anything in class this morning, so he might as well try his hardest to pay attention and take notes—play the good student—and when he has Nakamura’s class, he’ll worry about things then.

The morning passes too quickly.

During lunch, he catches sight of a familiar head of hair through the window. _Guess Tsukishima showed up to school after all._ Daichi takes a step closer to the glass for a better look, expecting to see Yamaguchi there too, but the freckled first year is nowhere to be found, the blonde instead in the presence of Kageyama. The captain is surprised to see the two talking, and as he lingers, they continue their conversation for a few more minutes before walking away from the vending machines together. Daichi tells himself that he wasn’t eavesdropping since he couldn’t hear the conversation, but he still finds it nice that those two are talking without any signs of arguing. They’ve come a really long way.

So, when Tsukishima shows up in his classroom during the final break of the day, walking straight up to his desk and bowing his head the tiniest bit in greeting, Daichi is more curious than surprised.

“Sorry for missing morning practice, Daichi-san,” Tsukishima starts, gaze dancing around instead of focusing on Daichi. “Yamaguchi was having a hard time and he asked if I’d stay with him until he was feeling better, and I said I would.”

“So, he’s feeling better now?” Daichi asks. It’s what he figured, but it still would have been nice to get a response this morning, especially since everyone is on edge and so concerned about Yamaguchi.

Tsukishima nods. “He’s feeling a little better. He’s staying home with his grandparents, though.”

The captain studies the younger teen, wondering if Yamaguchi told him about yesterday. They’re best friends, so probably, which only leads Daichi to wondering if Tsukishima already knew about it being a teacher. How much does Tsukishima actually know? Daichi says, “Thanks for letting me know.”

The middle blocker bites on his lip, holding his hands together and looking like there’s something else he wants to say. Daichi flicks his gaze toward the teacher, feeling uneasy about having another one of his teammates in the room, in the bastard’s sights, for too long. Daichi stands, placing himself between Tsukishima and Nakamura, knowing in the back of his mind that the blonde’s height defeats the purpose entirely, but anything he can do to limit that bastard’s ideas is a start.

“Suga’s mom is working on things,” the third year informs, trying to sound natural. “So, in a few days, we should see results.”

“And that’s going smoothly?” Tsukishima asks with a deadpan stare.

Daichi stops himself from asking, why are you still here? He’s not that bothered by the first year’s presence, he just doesn’t want him in this classroom.

Tsukishima mutters something under his breath, but says, “I just came here to apologize for missing practice this morning, and to tell you that Yamaguchi is okay. The King told me you were worried this morning.”

“Thanks, Tsukishima,” Daichi replies. “And I’m glad to hear that you and Kageyama are becoming better friends lately. It’s nice to see you all relying on each other.”

Predictably, the blonde’s eyes narrow at this and he frowns, obviously not too keen to label Kageyama and himself “friends.” Tsukishima mumbles, “Not really.” _They’ve come a long way, but not this far it seems._ Daichi smiles as the middle blocker takes his leave, glad to be reassured that Yamaguchi is safe and taken care of.

It takes less than a minute for his frown to settle back into place. A heavy desperation drags his heart down into the vicinity of his stomach each time he sees Nakamura, and it’s hard to think that this man has gotten away with so much and still shows up to work calm and shameless. Daichi can’t stop himself from glancing up at the teacher every few seconds even though it makes him feel sick.

Those were the hands that left all those bruises. His was the voice that left scars on Suga’s mind. Did that mouth smirk when he had Suga in his grasp?

Daichi wants to punch him, kick him, until the bastard’s skin is more black and blue than normal. He wants to feel the man’s bone splinter in his grip. He doesn’t want the man to ever smile again. He wants to see Nakamura cry. How great would that be? And as furious as he is—as much as he wants to make Nakamura suffer—he’s just as scared of the darkness of his own thoughts. It’s disgusting how easily the teacher can inspire the worst in people. Daichi wants this bastard arrested as soon as possible. He’s tired of looking at him.

A buzzing draws Daichi’s attention down to his desk where his phone is vibrating. The edge of the screen lights up, but before he can see who’s calling, Nakamura-sensei clears his throat loudly and says, “Would you refrain from interrupting class, Sawamura? Do I have to remind you that your phone should be turned off?” Daichi chews on his anger— _you can’t do anything about him right now. You have to pretend like everything’s normal._ He’s about to turn off his phone when the name on screen jumps out at him and sends a million worries through his head.

Suga’s mom.

Why would Suga’s mom be calling him during school? Is it about Suga? Did he wake up? Did he get worse? Daichi’s stomach drops. Is he—could he be dead? No. She’s probably made some headway with the police or school.

The captain grabs his bag and sprints for the door before Nakamura can say anything. Then he’s jogging down the hallway and answering the call, afraid that it might already be too late, but the call connects and Daichi sighs in relief.

“Hello?” he says breathless, leaning against the railing.

_“You actually answered. Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”_

Daichi drops his bag. _That voice!_ He must be dreaming. He scrunches his eyes closed and prays that he isn’t.

“Suga?” he dares to ask. And he decides that even if it is a dream, he wants to hear more. It feels so real that he thinks he’d sacrifice reality to live here any day because when was the last time he heard Suga speak?

_“Hey, Daichi,”_ Suga says, still a half whisper. _“It’s me.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -finally I can write from Suga's perspective again  
> -and stuff is happening, oh god plot, I should really work out the details of how shit's gonna go down, my outline hasn't forsaken me yet (don't mind my ramblings)


	17. It's Almost Never Easy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -You may be wondering, "what took so long?" Alas, my laptop cord broke and so did my heart alongside it.  
> -You may also be wondering, "why the fuck is this chapter so long?" Well, you see, I'm not really sure; I just know that I'm an overwriter and things have gotten out of hand.  
> -I'm truly sorry

_It was dark when he had first opened his eyes. Beeping, clicks, and the muffled sounds of faraway voices started to become noticeable, like someone was gradually turning up the volume,_ _and he realized he wasn’t in his bed at home. Arms heavy and immovable, he thought maybe he was strapped down, a theory made more reasonable by the feel of wires and tubes attached to his body. Mind unable to differentiate these medical devices from something more nefarious, terror took the reins. Where was he? What happened? Did Nakamura do this?_

_Suga panicked. He flailed his limbs trying to detach himself from his perceived restraints, body extremely weak and unresponsive to his mind’s commands. What was wrong with him? Was he drugged? No sound came from his mouth when he tried to cry for help._

_Just then a door opened, hallway light illuminating several medical instruments in the room, and he finally made the connection. He was in the hospital. But he couldn’t remember being brought here. Where were his parents? And wasn’t he on the phone with Daichi? Because he was on the mountain, and the teacher raped him, because he got in Nakamura’s car, and a lot of everything else was foggy._

_The nurse flicked on a small lamp on the other side of the room, the extra brightness enough to make Suga squint. The woman approached his bed carefully and with wide eyes. She asked him if he knew his name. He thought that it was a strange question, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it, and when he opened his mouth to reply, nothing but a dry croak left his lips._

_“Don’t worry; it’s going to be okay,” she said gently. Suga had trouble focusing on her face. He was still extremely sleepy and felt as if he could drift off again right then as she took his vitals, but he wanted to stay awake so that he could figure out why she was saying weird things. “What’s the last thing you remember? How does your head feel? It’s normal that your voice is weak after so long not using it. It’s also normal for your memory to be hazy. Don’t worry. Your parents are going to be so surprised but so ecstatic to see you, and that Sawamura boy too. You’re a miracle, sweetie. This is wonderful.”_

_He tried to stay awake. He really did. His eyelids were just too heavy._

_The next time he woke up was for longer. His mother and father were there and they both cried when they spoke to him. The tears, his own physical weakness and muddled mind—they confused him_ _. After trying and trying, he managed to form a semblance of a sentence, voice a barely understandable rasp, but audible._

_“What’s going on?”_

_“What do you remember about what happened?” his mother asked mildly._

_Flipping back through his memories, he found his mind a jumbled mess. Suga grew frustrated when he couldn’t recall how he got here. Whenever he tried to think too deeply about the missing or blurry pieces, he’d grow tense and angry at coming up empty. He didn’t even know if his parents knew about what happened in Nakamura’s car._

_“Nothing,” he croaked after a long think._

_“Kou-chan,” his mom murmured, wrapping her arms around him again. “What about the hospital? Do you remember the talk we had?”_

_Everyone kept asking him what he remembered. Suga’s eyebrows drew together and he shook his head. “I don’t remember the hospital.”_

_His parents exchanged a look. Worried that he’d forgotten something important, Suga tried to backpedal, but his father asked, “Do you remember talking with Sawamura on the phone?”_

_Had he actually talked with Daichi? He thought maybe. His voice doesn’t rise above a whisper when he says, “I called him. I don’t remember what we talked about.”_

_“You remember making the call, but you don’t remember the conversation?” his father clarified._

_Yeah, that sounded right. He nodded. Daichi must have called an ambulance and Suga must have passed out before it arrived and he’s now regaining consciousness. Which meant his parents must know. That’s probably why they were crying so much. He should explain, but can’t think of where to start._

_“You’ve been in a coma, Koushi,” his father said._

_Wait, did his dad say ‘coma’?_

_“It’s been five weeks.”_

_“Five…weeks?”_

_“Look,” his mom said softly, showing him the lock screen on her phone, date shining in bright white font: 16 December. Suga pulled back, confused, convinced they all had to be pulling some kind of prank on him because the last time he checked it was definitely November. It was ridiculous to think about._

_His parents looked equal parts serious and sad._

_How had he lost so much time? Coma?_

_“How?” was all he could manage._

_His mother grabbed both of his hands in hers, eyes swimming with tears, and said, “Kou-chan, you don’t remember, but you tried to take your own life.” Her eyes fell to his lap and Suga followed them to be met with the sight of his own scarred forearms stretched out. He flinched hard at the image, throat going dry._

_Yes, he had felt dirty, and stupid, and angry at himself for not fighting hard enough—and he remembered lying on the freezing cold ground out by the water and wishing that he could just sleep forever, but he didn’t remember doing this. He stared at the scars._

What the hell was I thinking? _he thought, those same feelings obnoxiously vying for attention in his head._   To think I would actually try suicide? If I could remember, then I could try to explain to Mom and Dad now. And if I said that I don’t want to die now, would they even believe me?

Would I believe me? _a dark corner of his mind whispered._

_“I’m sorry,” Suga said, shutting out all other thoughts. “That I made you worry. That I put you through this.”_

_“_ We’re _sorry that we couldn’t help you,” his mom replied. Both his parents looked so damn sad that he wanted desperately to fix it, but he knew it wasn’t something he could take back. Five weeks. He couldn’t give them back a month of peace of mind and that knowledge was what caused tears to leak out of his own eyes. He hadn’t wanted to cause them anymore pain but he just made it worse._

_“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He could feel the hollow shapes of memories he couldn’t quite place push the rational thoughts from his head, leaving him with a bunch of wild emotions. Before he knew it, he was sobbing. “I’m sorry, Mom, Dad.”_

_The doctors and nurses asked him a million questions, conducted dozens of tests, drew vials of blood. He fell asleep in the MRI. He woke up in his hospital room, but it was brighter than before and only his mom was at his side. She stayed with him all morning. She helped him with simple exercises, explaining that she had done some of them for him while he was comatose. “Tedious, but necessary for regaining grip strength, muscle density, and range of motion,” she said when he sighed. The other nurses had said that he seemed to be better off than expected and was expected to make a speedy recovery. The nurses said a lot of things, so giddy and affable, and Suga couldn’t even begin to keep up. When would the fog clear from his mind?_

***

Suga sits with his arm propped up against the side rail of the bed, fingers wrapped lightly around his mother’s cell phone, his own phone lost somewhere on that mountain. His mother sits reading in a chair she arranged beside the window.

The setter doesn’t remember what words were exchanged the last time he spoke to Daichi—did he apologize for the fight and did his friend forgive him?—but he’s so glad he’s talking to the captain again.

_“Suga, you—you’re—um—”_

“Awake?” Suga fills in.

 _“This is real, right?”_ Daichi asks.

“Yeah, it’s real,” Suga confirms. “Ugh, my voice. I can’t talk completely yet.”

Daichi pauses for a minute and then asks, _“Does it hurt to talk?”_

“Not really,” Suga replies. His whispers are pretty steady, but when he tries to raise his voice any louder, it sounds like he's dying.

Daichi asks, softly, _“How are you feeling?”_

 Suga swallows. He feels confused and dazed—guilt sticking in his throat like peanut butter, sorry for putting everyone through this, though if he’s honest, he also feels lucky that he’s alive when he almost died. _What right do I have to feel happy after everything I’ve done?_ His scars are a constant reminder of it. Unable to say all of this over the phone, he settles for saying, “I’ve had trouble thinking straight, but this is the clearest I’ve been all day.”

Daichi doesn’t speak, breathing steady and quietly.

What is he thinking? What’s his expression like right now? “Hey,” Suga says, overcome with the desire to talk to Daichi face to face. A month hasn’t changed that much, right? He glances over at his mom. He probably should ask her about this first, but he's eager to see Daichi, and maybe he’s being too forward, but he asks, “Are you going to come see me? They said I could have one or two visitors.”

_“I’ll come right now.”_

“Okay.” Suga laughs nervously. _You’ve been waiting to see me for a while, right? I sort of feel that way; all morning, I've been impatient to see you._ The nurses have been telling him about Daichi coming to visit him and Suga wants to know how much of it is true. He wonders aloud, “Is it true that you came every day?”

 _“Well, I tried.”_ The captain chuckles, sounding just as nervous. _“There were some days that I didn’t get to. And, uh...”_

“I think…” Suga hums. _I think you’re great. I’m sorry for everything I said and for not being there for you like you always were for me. I want to see your face and hear your voice in person. I miss you even though it feels like I’ve only slept for a night, but it’s like my body instinctively knows I haven’t talked to you in weeks. I miss you way more than I should. And I should be thinking of other things right now, I know._ “I think…there’s so much I want to say when you get here. Not over the phone.”

_“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”_

“Thanks, Daichi. Thank you for everything.”

Suga hangs up and drops the phone onto the pillow. Staring at his trembling hand and biting his lip, Suga silently curses the fact that he can’t even hold a phone for five minutes. His mother walks over, smiling and brushing his hair back from his face. “It’ll get better,” she tells him.

Suga doesn’t reply, content under these warm covers with his mom methodically stroking his hair. This can't last forever, he knows, but wanting to hold onto it for as long as possible, he keeps his eyes closed, not ready to face everything yet. He’s honestly hoping his mom doesn't say anything else, though, he can tell she wants to talk.

“I think it's important to say some things before you have visitors, and we have time until Daichi gets here.”

He flicks his eyes toward his mom then. “You’re assuming he’s coming right now.”

“Of course,” she replies instantly, all but rolling her eyes. Suga blushes at how adamantly she says it, like she knows more than she’s letting on. Did he say something to her that he doesn't remember saying?

“What do you want to talk about?” Suga asks, wondering if he should simply give up all pretenses. He doesn't know if he can deal with the feelings that come with that vulnerability.

Her idle expression is deceptive because he knows she’s reading him like a book. She replies, “You. Your feelings.”

“Oh?” Suga braces himself.

“Firstly,” she says. “I love you.”

 _She's starting out easy._ He smiles and says, “I love you too.”

“You can’t even begin to understand how much I love you.” She’s still so serious. “I want you to talk to me, I really do, but if you can’t, then I at least want to say this: Don’t let anyone tell you how to feel. Your feelings are your own. If you feel like shit, then you feel like shit and it’s best to face that shit head on instead of glossing over it.”

“How many times are you going to say _shit_?”

“Well, shit, do you want me to stop?”

“I don’t know?” he says, confused. How many times has his mom gone into bizarre speeches like this that turn out being helpful? _I guess the content isn’t unusual; it’s just the delivery._

“Conversely, Koushi,” she continues, “you’re allowed to feel happy, and you shouldn’t feel guilty about it. And that brings me to my next point: my feelings are my own also. That means I’m free to feel that you’re the smartest, kindest, bravest, most beautiful son a mother could have, and you can’t tell me otherwise.”

“Mom…” Why can’t he believe it of himself? How can he let himself believe those things?

She removes her hand from his hair and holds his hands instead. “It seems you’ve been worrying about how everyone else is going to take this news. Honestly, Kou-chan, that’s not something you can control,” she says sadly. Her eyes are so kind, Suga feels his heart ache. “People are going to take it how they do, and the only thing you can do is build yourself up high enough that negativity can’t tear you down.”

Fearful of putting his true feelings out there, he shakes his head. It's scary—and it’s hard loving yourself that much. His scars catch his eyes and he winces, looking away and trying not to think about how much self-hatred it must have taken to go through with it. _And even if I hate Nakamura, that doesn’t make it any easier loving myself._

“I don’t know how,” he says hopelessly. He looks up into her eyes. “I don’t know how to believe that I’m smart or kind or any of the stuff you mentioned. I feel… not worthy of any of this.”

_I don’t know how to not hate myself._

_I hate him, but I hate myself too._

“Worthy?” She chews on the word as if she doesn’t like it. She ends up saying, “I love you and I want you here, and I will always love you and always want you here.”

Blinking slowly and leaning back into his pillows, he stares at his mother without words. He thinks he'll keep that in mind if he ever gets to questioning his will to live again. _My mom loves me and wants me here._

Suga plays that on repeat in his head.

_My mom loves me and wants me here._

The taint of his guilty, inky feelings lifts slightly from his body. The darkness twisting his mind and strangling his heart retreats just a bit—just enough so that he can think calmly.

***

Sugawara Koushi is trying to wrap his mind around the fact that he’s been in a coma for five weeks when his best friend knocks and enters his hospital room. Tensing at how tired Daichi looks, the guilt seeps back into his bloodstream, and, he repeats his mother's assurance like an incantation: _my mom loves me and wants me here._

Daichi smiles despite his obvious exhaustion and strides closer, dropping his bag to the floor without a second thought as he reaches the bed. The captain’s eyes are wide and his lips are parted, but he’s completely silent. The staring doesn’t make him uncomfortable because he's looking just as much.

“I’m having trouble remembering,” Suga whispers, self-conscious about pushing at the limits of his voice in front of Daichi right now. “So, sorry if I’ve forgotten something important. I only remember up until I tried to call you.”

Daichi's eyebrows shoot up. “You don’t remember the hospital or our phone call?”

“The doctors say the memories might come back over time, or they might not.” Suga shakes his head. Everyone keeps asking about the hospital, but what happened must have been really bad. “I don’t know if I even want to remember what I was thinking,” he admits. Maybe that’s selfish of him, hoping he can blot out the bad things from his memory when the others can’t do the same.

“I guess you wouldn’t,” Daichi says, and it’s too tiring for Suga to try to read between the lines.

It’s weird, having this conversation when the last interaction with Daichi he remembers is telling him that he had to miss practice because of a makeup test. But Daichi has these other memories of them talking, and it’s so strange to think about.

“What did I say on the phone?” Suga asks. He remembers wanting to talk to Daichi to apologize because he didn't think he'd make it down that mountain, yet somehow his friend found him.

Grip tightening on the bed's railing, he avoids the setter’s face when he says, “Nothing. Or—well, you helped us figure out how to find you. Asahi figured out how to navigate by the stars. It was crazy.” Daichi glances up hesitantly.

Suga knows there’s more—of course, there’s more—but there’s a door separating the desire to remember and the stability of his mind, and he trusts Daichi as the gatekeeper for now. He can’t change anything that happened in the past, but he’s so curious at the same time.

“Daichi, how are you?” he asks, tears gathering in his eyes. He's cried so much today, even at what should be happy moments. “I’m so sorry for the fight we had, and making you come all the way out to find me that night, and for trying to kill myself and leaving you to deal with the team and everything by yourself. And still, you came to see me every day.” Suga is seriously crying by this point. “It means so much that you’re still standing by my side after everything. After everything…”

The captain squeezes his hand tightly, Suga doing his best to squeeze back. “I’m not going to leave you. Not over some stupid fight, not because of what that bastard did to you, and not because of something you don’t even remember doing.”

There’s so much he wants to say, to get off his chest, to ask of Daichi. His lips tremble trying to form the words and keep up with his brain. “Daichi, I’m really sorry for what I said. I’m sure it must have been hard to admit your feelings and I didn't make it any easier. I keep thinking about what a jerk I was.”

The captain holds his gaze, saying, easily, “It’s ancient history.”

“It’s not to me,” Suga replies. There's definitely a question in Daichi's eyes, one that Suga should know how to answer because he's the one pressing the point, but he can't get the words out. Despite everything his mother said about confronting his feelings honestly, he still finds himself hesitating.

Daichi’s phone rings.

He silences it, but the moment is broken. Suga's hand grows cold without the other boy's there. Heartbeat returning to normal, he tells himself that now isn't the right time anyways, and instead, he continues his line of questioning. “How are the others doing?” he asks. Daichi’s posture shifts and it's nothing subtle, so Suga presses, “What’s wrong? What happened?”

Exhaustion blankets Daichi's body and he throws his gaze up to the ceiling, the fire gone from him instantaneously. Looking like he would give almost anything to not have to speak these words, Daichi says, “Well, you see… Yamaguchi was raped.”

Suga’s eyes go wide. He has never wanted to outright deny anything more than what Daichi is telling him—not even his own circumstances—because to imagine that man putting his hands on Yamaguchi is the epitome of one of his secret fears. Everything that he experienced flips through his mind, those sickening things burning into his mind anew and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. Maybe it was because Nakamura had said that Suga reminded him of someone specific, maybe it was because that he felt so alone before, but even though he feared his friends getting hurt, he didn't really think it would come true. He thought he was the only one.

Suga had remained silent. The teacher raped Yamaguchi. Hands shaking and chest tight, he wishes that none of it was true, that the first year hasn't been hurt like this and that he could rewind time.

“Suga, it’s not your fault.”

Daichi's voice barely registers with Suga. It takes him a minute to understand it, but he doesn't know if he can believe it.

“When?” His question is just a breath. Suga coughs and finds his voice. “When did it happen?” _How soon after I tried to kill myself did that man move in on my kouhai?_

Daichi looks immeasurably sad. “A week ago.”

The setter nods, blinking slowly. “How is he doing?”

“He went to Tsukishima’s house straight away. Tsukishima’s been a big help. And his grandparents have been a major support, as well as the team.”

“But how is _he_?”

“Some days are better than others. He just—he just doesn’t talk much.”

The setter's not sure who Daichi's concern is directed towards. Hopefully it's for Yamaguchi.

Suga’s tears flow heavier. And here he had thought he couldn’t feel any worse. He keeps imagining that man touching Yamaguchi, Suga's body growing colder, more statue-like with each image that passes through his head—the first year crying, the first year calling out for help, the teacher laughing. Did Nakamura glare at Yamaguchi in that way designed to stir up terror? Did the man hit the teen? Did he say all those degrading things to him, the things that polluted Suga's mind until he believed them about himself?

“I want to see him. I need to see him. I want to talk to him,” he says, rasping voice rising into hysterics that trigger a coughing fit. He covers his face with his arms but doesn't even have the strength to bring his knees up, his imagined cocoon of safety dissolving before it can even take shape.

“Suga, take it easy. Breathe.”

His eyes go wide as his mind races and he feels so disgusted that he wants to throw up. “I tried to kill myself,” he says, still desperately trying to conjure the memory from the foggiest depths of his psyche even though all it's gained him are murky feelings of self-loathing. “I tried to die without even saying anything and left you all to deal with the possibility of this happening again. I should have known that he would do this. I should have known. I was so selfish and stupid.”

“That’s not true. Listen,” Daichi jumps in when Suga pauses for a breath. The setter didn’t think that anyone could understand his broken, raspy ramblings. “You left behind a message written in blood.”

The gray-haired boy lowers his arms to give Daichi a look. “Message written in blood? You’re kidding, right?”

“No. But the thing is, your message was smeared and the only readable bit was ‘mura.’” When Daichi pauses here, Suga’s jaw drops and he suddenly feeling the urge to hide behind himself again. The captain continues, “Yamaguchi agreed to tell me that it was a teacher who attacked him, and with that information I concluded that it’s Nakamura-sensei. Your parents are already doing everything they can to get him put away.”

Suga is speechless. His parents and Daichi have been trying to seek justice for him while he was in a coma _._ They figured it out just from that small clue, and furthermore, Daichi didn't pause to judge him. _Did I really believe that they wouldn't fight for me? Was I really afraid that they wouldn't stand with me?_

Daichi's questioning expression slips into this grim acceptance, apparently taking Suga's silence as confirmation of his suspicions.

“I don't know if I was supposed to tell you all this, but it's the truth, and I’m sorry to overwhelm you, Suga, but don’t you see? After all that time you wouldn’t say who it was, you wrote it in your blood before you fell unconscious like you were desperate to tell someone.”

He recalls how terrified he’d he had been about people discovering it was Nakamura, and now Daichi and his parents know, Yamaguchi knows firsthand, all of it so surreal Suga doesn’t know what to address first. It's surely difficult for Yamaguchi to go to school, especially since only a week has passed. He mumbles, “He’s still at the school?”

“Yes,” Daichi responds seriously. “No one will do anything about it unless one of his victims comes forward and issues a complaint.”

“And Yamaguchi hasn’t because I’m sure Nakamura’s threatened him into staying silent,” Suga supplies, knowing full well that the teacher has likely said anything and everything to get the first year to keep his mouth shut. Suga feels the sick that's been swirling around his stomach make itself noticeable again.

“He’s really scared. Just answering me when I asked if it was a teacher who hurt him took a lot of resolve from him.” Daichi sighs and looks the setter in the eye. “Your mom is doing everything she can, and since there’s no school Friday, we figured we only had to endure one more day before the weekend. I don’t know how much she can achieve but we’ll make it so that you won’t have to see that bastard at school again.”

Suga bites on his lip, feeling more uneasy despite Daichi’s reassurances. His mind is still reeling from all that's happened, all this information hitting him so quickly that he can't get his bearings. Suga has to concentrate on his breathing just to keep it even. He wishes he could apologize to Yamaguchi right now.

He doesn't know how to make any of it right.

_If, maybe, I had stayed and kept going to school, would things have turned out differently? If, instead of Yamaguchi, Nakamura approached me again, then the first year could have been spared._

_But, no, that wouldn't have happened. Nakamura beat me up pretty badly. There would have been no hiding or explaining away those injuries. With Daichi knowing, and my parents being smart enough to figure it out, I wouldn't have been able to continue my life like normal without the constant questions about who did it._

_It's not a secret I could have kept._

_It's not a secret I should have kept._

He has to get Nakamura out of there, and no one else can do it for him. Suga has to say it. Whatever he started writing in his own blood that night, he has to see it through because it’s not just something that happened to him anymore.

“I’ll report it,” Suga announces then. He’s sorry that he couldn’t muster this strength before and he’s sorry he can’t fix what's already happened. “I’m going to report that it was Nakamura.”

“What? Really?” Daichi splutters.

Suga nods, his stomach writhing nervously, but also determined. “Yes.”

“That's great,” Daichi says, still surprised, eyes flicking through a dozen different emotions, and Suga's struggling to keep up, head aching from thinking about it too hard. Sleepiness suddenly descends upon him.

“My mom and dad want to keep it a secret for a while that I'm awake,” Suga says, remembering how important his parents said this is. “I didn't understand before, but if they already know about Nakamura, then I think they're worried about him finding out about me being awake and trying to threaten me again or something.” Though he says it nonchalantly, Suga's all too aware of what the 'or something' is.

“I won't say anything,” Daichi promises.

“I want to talk to Yamaguchi, but no one else can know for now. I'm sorry.”

The other boy nods.

“Daichi,” Suga says, trying to press the significance of this even though he's so tired he might accidentally fall asleep if he blinks too long. It's just that this guy here is the best friend someone could have and Suga will have to work to deserve him. “Thanks for holding down the fort by yourself this entire time, even before I, you know...”

“Yeah,” the captain replies softly, not breaking eye contact.

The way that Daichi looks back at him makes his heart beat faster. Suga feels...important. He feels like the only thing in the room worth anything because Daichi hasn't glanced away for even a second, and it's kind of hard to breathe, but it also fills his body with this dizzy happiness he's not used to feeling.

 _I'm allowed to feel like this,_ Suga thinks, reminding himself of his mother's words. _I'm allowed to feel happy._

“I missed you,” Suga feels compelled to say and Daichi startles, wide-eyed. “It feels like I went to sleep and woke up in the space of a day, but, at the same time, for some reason, I missed you like I was the one waiting all this time for you.”

“Suga...”

The setter lifts his arm the best he can and offers his hand to Daichi, who takes it without a moment's hesitation. “Is that weird?” he asks, having a hard time keeping his eyelids open.

“No,” Daichi whispers, trying and failing to bite back a broad grin. “I don't think that's weird.”

“Okay,” he mumbles in a halfhearted response. Suga’s eyes fall closed, but Daichi continues holding his hand until he falls asleep. In reality, it probably takes less than a minute, but to Suga it feels like an hour.

***

The nurses keep calling him a miracle. After a month of being in a comatose state, chances of waking up nosedive, but he awoke. Miracle, they say. He’s making immense progress with his physical therapy, able grip things and lift things significantly better than most patients at his stage of recovery. Miracle, they say again. They swarm him with their smiles and their awe, these people he has no connection to, but for some reason they’re so glad he’s alive.

Miracle.

It’s such a contradiction to what his hazy memory lets him remember. It's only been a day since he woke up, but he's been dwelling on it, and the only things that have surfaced are feelings that he can't connect to any images or sound. It’s frustrating. He's been having dreams though, and maybe there's some truth to them, but Suga isn't holding his breath. Besides, he has enough to keep his mind occupied without trying to analyze his own dreams.

Like the fact that he's going to turn in Nakamura.

When his parents came back in the evening yesterday, he told them his decision. They told him they were proud, and they sat with him for the better part of an hour while he worked up the nerve to talk to the school officials. He spoke with the principal over the phone and told him, nearly choking on the word “rape” when he had to say it aloud, and the school agreed to suspend Nakamura temporarily. Within a week, Suga has to meet with a school official to give his testimony and file an official report, a board meeting following that before anything more permanent can take place. His mother wants him to wait until he's stronger to talk to the police. _She must think they're going to interrogate me._ Suga doesn't want to wait any longer than he already has. He really wants to get it over with before he loses his nerve. So, he and his parents agreed on talking to the police on Saturday. His voice should be back to normal and this constant sleepiness should have subsided by then.

Suga has been trying not to think about it much. _All I have to do is answer their questions honestly_. He's trying his hardest to ignore the anxiety he feels when he thinks about what might come after the questions.

A knock on his door draws his attention.

Yamaguchi enters.

Suga tenses. For a moment Yamaguchi stands with the door at his back, eyes locked on the floor, bending a composition notebook back and forth nervously. He wonders how it happened and where it happened, but at the same time he doesn’t want to know.  The captain’s words were obviously meant to cheer him because Suga’s broken message was of no real help to anyone. Self-disgust claws at his throat viciously. It’s hard facing his emotions head on because he feels so shitty and guilty he can barely breathe and he just wants to hide. He just wants it to go away so he can breathe, but he knows he can’t hide from Yamaguchi after everything that’s happened, and after Suga requested to see him. It barely registers with Suga that it's morning and thus, Yamaguchi must be skipping school right now.

“Yamaguchi,” he says to gauge how the boy will react and when he flinches another tiny piece of Suga's heart breaks. “I'm sorry,” Suga says, mouth wobbling so much he's barely understandable. “I didn't think this would happen. I didn't think he'd actually hurt anyone else. I'm sorry. I should have said something weeks ago.”

Yamaguchi floats closer, eyes wide and haunted, but he still shakes his head, saying, “I'm glad you're awake. We've all been so worried.”

“Yamaguchi, how are you doing?” Suga asks, trying to see through the wall the first year has built.

After a long silence, Yamaguchi says, “You know what it’s like.”

Unsuccessfully trying to catch the younger teen’s eye, he says, “It's been a week, right? After a week for me, I still hadn't told anyone, including my parents. I didn't like anyone touching me. I couldn't eat and when I had to, I made myself puke. I know what it's like for me.”

Yamaguchi doesn't speak.

“What I mean by saying this is...” Suga struggles to find the words to explain. How does he pierce through the first year’s silence? “I know what it's like, and I know I lied about being fine for a long time before admitting I wasn't. Yet, you’ve opened up to people, and I want to know how you're doing. Does it really help?”

“Suga-san, I don't know,” Yamaguchi says breathlessly, looking ready to ring the life out of his notebook. He finally raises his gaze to Suga's face. “I only told them b-because I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear the weight of that secret. But, I still relive it every night. I want to peel my skin from my body sometimes. I've only recently started reading these poems that help me feel like I'm not alone.”

Suga knows these things all too well, especially the fear of being alone, except Yamaguchi says he reads poems to combat this. Daichi had said that he went straight to Tsukishima’s house, which is nearly inconceivable to Suga because he didn't want anyone to see him after that first time. He didn't want anyone to know, and if that meant denying himself the comfort of companionship, then he was ready to concede that. Suga had been too scared to look into other's stories for fear that they would make him feel worse—but he ended up feeling completely isolated by not seeking help. He shouldn't be comparing himself to Yamaguchi. They both experienced something horrible, and even if their reactions weren't the same, they still understand.

_There's so much to think about. There's so much going on. But right now, Yamaguchi is here._

“He said things...” Yamaguchi whispers.

Suga's heart constricts. There are so many things Nakamura said to him that made him feel worthless and useless, and grew like a fungus in his mind. He doesn't want that man to warp Yamaguchi's perceptions of himself to the same extent his were. He's trying not to be so hard on himself all the time. He's trying not to hate himself.

“He implied that he did that to you twice,” the brunette says nervously. Suga freezes, thinking there are some things he can't tell anyone. What else did Nakamura say? The first year sits back looking guilty and apologetic, notebook slipping from his hands. Mind somewhere else, it looks like Yamaguchi doesn’t even notice the emptiness of his grasp. “I'm sorry for bringing it up, but I'm scared that he'll come back. He said I reminded him of someone he went to school with. I don't know what to do. I can barely talk to Tsukki; I don't think I can talk about it to the police or anything. Suga-san, what do you—what's wrong?”

The gray-haired setter is staring, eyebrows raised in shock.

“He said you reminded him of someone he went to school with?” Suga asks. “From his baseball team?”

Tension thickens the air in the room, giving a weight to every word uttered.

“Yeah. He said I looked like the pitcher on his team. Did he say the same to you?”

Suga shakes his head, muttering, “Shortstop.” He processes Yamaguchi's words. Nakamura is going after people who look like his former teammates. _In that case, Nakamura never intended to end it with just me._ Something else the teacher said floats to the forefront of Suga's mind then, and he recalls the man speaking about his senpai and the sexual favors they made him perform. The shortstop and three others. If one of them was a pitcher, there could be two other victims, probably staying silent because they think they're the only ones. Or there could be two future victims. Either way, it's not going to stop unless someone decides to be the first to speak up.

Suga already decided, but this news makes him sure.

“Yesterday, I decided that I'm reporting him to the police,” he says, taking a deep breath. “My mom just wants to wait until my voice is stronger. I’m going to talk to them on Saturday.

“Y-you—” Yamaguchi stammers. He looks really worried for Suga. “Really? You're not scared about them saying you don't have enough evidence?”

“I'm really scared,” Suga replies. “But I have no idea when I'm going to stop being scared.”

_I was worried about that same thing. I was worried no one would believe me and I was worried that he would come back. Well, he did come back, but there are people who believe me, who are fighting for me. If I'm going to be scared either way, I might as well try to take him to court, maybe make him a little scared of me too._

There's a long silence.

“I want to,” Yamaguchi whispers, gaze eclipsed by guilt and anxiety. Suga recognizes that same look, having seen it on his own face in the mirror countless times. The first year frowns heavily and says, “I just don't think I can.”

Suga's heart aches. “I get it. I do,” Suga responds, thinking back to before he got in that car. He was so afraid to even tell Daichi. He supposes there’s something about almost dying that’s changed something inside him. He finds himself smiling and blinking away tears, determined to protect this boy like he didn't before. “Let me take care of you this time, okay? I'll fight twice as hard, for the both of us, and if or when you think you're ready to face him, I'll support you.”

“Thank you,” Yamaguchi replies, blinking at tears too. “When the coach told us what happened, I felt—I felt so helpless because there was nothing any of us could do anymore. We just couldn't reach you in the end. I'm on the other side of that now, but I'm even more confused.”

Suga's sure Yamaguchi hasn't confessed this to anyone yet by the extra nervous lilt of his voice and trembling fingers. The boy must be so conflicted about what happened—about how much he's deciding to lean on others versus how much he's keeping to himself. Suga wishes he could go back and tell himself to trust his family and friends a little bit more. Still, Yamaguchi's confession feels several layers deep, and Suga asks, “How so?”

“I have trouble speaking,” he replies apprehensively, glancing away again. “I know everyone cares—in theory. I know they just want to help because I just wanted to help you, but at the same time it’s lonely even around everybody. I feel trapped in my head, and it's like what's on the outside and what's on the inside don't match up. I don't really know how to explain it.”

“You're explaining it well,” Suga assures. “Or, at least, I think I understand. I felt that way too—trapped and like everything was screaming inside me, and I ended up saying a bunch of things I didn't mean. In my frustration, I ended up just hurting people who cared.”

“Your fight with Daichi?” Yamaguchi asks quietly and Suga nods. The first year says, consolingly, “Everyone has fights with the people they love.”

Suga goes quiet. He knows Yamaguchi's referring to love of the platonic variety, but he gets fidgety about the word anyways. What are his feelings for Daichi exactly? He likes Daichi, yes, he’s sure that’s true, but is that enough? After everything Daichi's done... _But even now, I want to be with Daichi_. Putting aside words like “love” and feelings like guilt and shame, what's left is this longing to be with Daichi, sit with him, wrap his arms around the captain’s torso. Suga wonders what it would feel like to lay his lips over the captain's and share the same breath for a moment.

The setter wants to slap himself. Reigning in these hopeless (or hopeful?) thoughts, he says, “Thanks, Yamaguchi.” Some of the anxiety he'd been feeling before this meeting has subsided, talking to Yamaguchi really opening up his eyes about some things.

“Huh? For what?”

“For coming to see me. For cheering me up.”

An honest smile lights up the first year's face for a brief moment. “Talking to you helped me a lot, too,” he says. He crouches to gather his composition book from the floor where he dropped it.

“I think one of your papers went underneath that table,” Suga mentions, pointing.

“Ah. Thanks,” Yamaguchi says scrambling to retrieve it.

Judging by Yamaguchi's protectiveness of it, the notebook isn’t just a school book. He says, “I noticed you've been holding onto that notebook pretty tightly.”

Yamaguchi tucks the stray sheet inside the front cover. “It’s supposed to be for me to write my feelings in, but I've mostly been collecting poems I've found on the internet.”  Peering down at the cover, his voice becomes more animated as he continues talking. “Tsukki’s been helping me translate the ones in English. My favorite right now is by this American poet Evan Knoll and it's called 'Ode to Things He Couldn't Take.'

“You have to see him perform it to get the full effect, but there's this part that I like. He says, 'I am learning to call my body a prayer box/that loving it is an act of defiance against him/watching it grow skin he has never touched and not die/grow hair he has never pulled ad not die.' Personally, I hated myself.” He says this sentence quietly, like maybe it will be less true if he doesn't say it entirely out loud. “I hated my skin and I often still do feel like I don't quite belong in it. But he made me realize that the skin cells I had that evening have all died and turned to dust. I know it's only a technicality. I also know it's super obvious, but this is my body, not his. I try to remind myself of that a couple times a day. It's not much. I have so much trouble speaking and sleeping, but it helps me a little bit.”

 _And you have no idea how much you've just helped me_. Throat tightening, Suga reflects on this conversation and everything he's learned about Yamaguchi—and not just regarding Nakamura, but how strong the first year is, and how compassionate he is too. He thinks he wants to look up that poem, and if he can get even a little bit of strength from the poet's words like Yamaguchi did, then it would be worth the fear of the read.

“Thank you for sharing that,” Suga finally says. “I was really nervous about hearing other people's stories because I thought they would be as depressing as mine. I guess I should have realized there were so many different perspectives.”

“Tsukki gave me this notebook. Daichi sent me a bunch of links for survivors. Hinata and Kageyama always make sure I'm doing okay during practice.” Yamaguchi holds the notebook to his chest like a long-lost friend. “I wouldn't be where I am without support from all of them.”

“I'm glad you're talking more than when you first got here.”

Yamaguchi laughs nervously. “I should be going. My grandparents are probably waiting for me outside.”

Feeling loneliness creep in already, Suga attempts to smile and says, “Okay. Since I can’t have a bunch of visitors it'd mean a lot if you'd come and visit me again.”

“Yeah, Suga-san,” the brunette says from the doorway. “I will.”

The setter watches him go, sadness battling relief, and, too tired to chaperone them, Suga figures he’ll just wait for one to win out. He’s also grateful that everyone's done such a good job taking care of the first year, though half of it is Yamaguchi having the courage to accept that help.

“Koushi, you can do this,” he says out loud to himself. If he thinks of this like that part of the poem Yamaguchi read—that loving his body and loving himself, is an act of defiance against that man—then that should make it easier. Nakamura wants him to feel worthless, wants him to feel like nothing, so why should he comply so easily? Why make that bastard smile? He glances at the scars on his forearms and fights to keep his resolve steady. He says, “This is so hard.”

Twenty minutes later when the nurses come to help him with his physical therapy, he feels calmer than he has since waking. He's going to report Nakamura, which is scary, but at least he has a plan for it. His parents know and the team knows, but he's seen how much of a help they can be. Pretty soon, he'll be able to walk unassisted again.

He's not where he wants to be. In regard to anything. Suga reminds himself that that's okay for now.

If he keeps trying, he'll get closer to his goal, inch by inch, day by day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -When I was first outlining this fic, I didn't have a name for it for the longest time (it's still named 'daisuga fanfic' on my computer), but then I rediscovered that poem and decided I wanted to use some of the same themes in my story, and yeah, I decided to name it after the poem.  
> -for anyone who's interested: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kw9GBBJIvCk  
> 


	18. Divert

Daichi's considered it before, especially back in November when he was spending so much time at other people’s houses. He's voiced his feelings to Asahi a couple of times, the ace always managing to talk him out of it in about a minute, so he knows he wasn't serious back then. Now, it's different. Daichi’s sure that no one—including Asahi and Suga—would be able to talk him out of it.

Dropping his books onto his desk, Daichi sighs, barely able to take pleasure in Nakamura’s absence. How is he going to tell the team on such short notice? They need a solid foundation right now, someone who can think solely about volleyball at practice, and he can't. His head is so full of other things he almost laughs. Now that he can actually be of help staying at Suga’s side, he’s not going to pass up this opportunity. Daichi's tired of playing volleyball without Suga. And it's not likely the setter will play anytime soon.

_How am I going to tell them? Especially since they can't know about Suga yet._

“Hey, Sawamura,” a classmate calls from the doorway. Skidding to a halt in front of Daichi’s desk, the boy points over his shoulder and asks, “The volleyball team has a couple of guys named Nishinoya and Tanaka, right?”

“Yeah. Why?” The captain’s thoughts are immediately displaced, shoved aside by worry and disbelief. _Surely nothing else could have happened. Surely, there’s no way something happened to those two. What did they get themselves into this time?_

“They were just fighting in the hallway,” his classmate says, growing more excited by this gossip. “They caused a big commotion, and then this first year that I think is also on your team jumped in and tried to break them up, and all three—”

“Wait, they were fighting each other?” Daichi cuts in incredulously, standing. Mind reeling, he asks over his shoulder, “Where?” as he rushes to the door.

Everyone is settling into their desks as the bell rings, but a few classmates glance at him out of the corners of their eyes.

“Right outside of the principal’s office,” the guy responds with a feigned seriousness.

Daichi knows that it’s too late to help, and he knows that any teacher he encounters will just send him back to class. Maybe his classmate was blowing this out of proportion, the confrontation probably similar to what had previously happened between the libero and the ace. Nishinoya and Tanaka are loud guys, so things naturally seem more chaotic around them. He knows all this, yet, he runs anyways. _Tensions are running high right now and Nishinoya doesn’t know who to blame for everything that’s happened and he’s the type that likes to confront his problems head on, so, right now must be especially hard for him. Tanaka’s been acting like usual, the mental strength shown in matches aiding him well. But they got one of the first years involved_.

The captain is just about to head back to class when the principal’s door opens and Kageyama steps out solemnly, nodding to someone on the other side of the door before closing it between them. He flinches when he comes face to face with Daichi, eyebrows shooting up, face sporting a busted lip.

“What happened?” Daichi asks, gesturing for the setter to walk with him, not wanting to get caught dawdling outside of the principal’s office after what happened.  

“Tanaka-san and Nishinoya-san were fighting in the hallway. I tried to get them to stop before they hurt each other, and then the principal and vice principal came out of their office and broke up the fight.”

It’s said simply, without any fanfare. Staring sternly into Kageyama’s eyes and trying to discern if there’s anything he’s holding back, Daichi is met with an unreadable expression. He asks, “But what were they fighting about?”

Shaking his head, the setter says, “I don't know.”

“What were they doing there? That's not even close to their classrooms,” Daichi wonders aloud.

“I don't know,” Kageyama repeats.

The third year finds this situation strange—firstly, that Tanaka and Nishinoya have been fighting, and secondly, that Kageyama hasn't blinked while recounting the events. Maybe he's reading too much into this and looking for things to be wrong. He doesn’t know anymore.

“Kageyama.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Are you okay?” Daichi asks, features softening— _that cut lip must hurt—_ and pushing away any lingering curiosity about the second years for now _._

“Yes,” Kageyama responds immediately, nodding his head enthusiastically. “It's just a small cut. I’m perfectly fine to play.”

“Okay, then,” Daichi says, clapping the first year on the back. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised that being able to play is the setter’s biggest worry.

When he returns to his classroom, he finds the vice principal standing at the chalkboard, looking flustered and angry, toupee slightly askew. After mumbling something about the bathroom, Daichi takes his seat, the vice principal announcing that due to Nakamura-sensei’s absence, their class will be converted to a study hall. He gets no reply from either Nishinoya or Tanaka when he texts them, asking about what happened at lunch. Time flies by faster than he’d anticipated, and when the final bell rings, his heart grows heavier with every step closer to the gym. When he walks through the doors, it hits him that this could be the last time. He’s already decided, so why is this sentimentality dripping down on him like rain through a leaky roof? Each memory is a raindrop, three years worth of them suddenly bombarding him— _do you remember the time, or what about that moment, remember when…_

He helps the second years set up the net and they ask about Nishinoya and Tanaka, to which he can only speculate about a possible suspension. Ennoshita tells him not to worry when he sees Daichi’s expression. Afterwards, he checks in with the first years, interrupting the two middle blockers teasing Kageyama about his face. Tsukishima’s passive aggressiveness irks him, but despite that, Daichi lingers with their group. And he’s just stalling, wishing that they could turn back the clock and enjoy the time they had when they were all together, even if it were for just one day, just one last match. The longing for that fantasy burns heavy in Daichi’s chest.

He calls for everyone's attention, feeling guilty about the varying degrees of trepidation. With so much bad news lately, they must be worried, and even Ukai looks slightly confused, both he and Takeda left in the dark. Inhaling deeply, Daichi says, “So, I wanted to tell you that I'm stepping down as captain and resigning from club effective today.” He bites his lip waiting for their response.

Shock splinters their expressions.

“Sawamura, are you sure?” Ukai asks, tone one of calm acceptance. Daichi meets his gaze and nods resolutely.

“B-but—” Hinata starts, looking between Ukai and Daichi.

“Why now?” Ennoshita asks, eyes searching.

Daichi grabs the back of his neck and smiles awkwardly. “It's been a long time coming, honestly. I haven’t been the captain you all deserve,” he says even though it’s difficult. He blinks away the memories that resurface with his announcement. “Moving forward, I can't devote the time or the attention that I did in the past. I think everyone would benefit if you all carried on without me.”

_None of it’s a lie, though once everyone can know about Suga’s recovery, everything will be easier._

“That's a very textbook response,” Tsukishima says sourly.

He doesn’t contest this; he simply nods, mouth shut tight, waiting for the others to chime in. He should have made things right with Tsukishima before he left. There are a lot of things he should have done.

Kageyama opens his mouth to say something but Ennoshita cuts him off, saying, “He's not wrong. It sounds practiced. Listen, Daichi. I know you've spent every day practicing here with us even though you would have rather been at Suga's bedside,” Ennoshita starts, soft voice tired but undercut with strength. “Of course, that's where you'd rather be. But you were here for us—for every single one of us. You kept us all hopeful when we were so close to falling apart. You weren't— _aren't_ —a bad captain.

“I know you’re hurting. I know you feel partially responsible for both Suga and Yamaguchi, and you don’t let yourself show weakness in front of us—that it’s something you feel you have to do as a leader to protect us, or maybe it’s a more selfish reason, I don't know.”

A lump forms in Daichi’s throat, rendering him speechless. Everyone’s attention is focused on Ennoshita, waiting to hear what will be said next, and it becomes obvious how well the second year can rally people. _He can lead, he’s steadfast and level-headed, he’s kind but also stern._ Daichi’s completely certain Ennoshita will make a great successor.

“So, if you're tired and you miss Suga and you can't find any enjoyment from volleyball anymore, then I understand. If you have to focus on school, I understand. But don’t say we’d ‘benefit’ without you. We wouldn't have made it through this past month without you.”

Daichi bows his head and hums, having only prepared himself for the team’s possible surprise and nothing more. He didn’t expect to hear any speeches. He didn’t expect for it to be this hard to get the words out, but nevertheless, he says, “Thank you,” raising his gaze and smiling. This conversation helps dispel any doubts he’d harbored about the team’s durability and sustainability, Ennoshita’s passionate response and desire to keep the team a team proof of that. Finding himself face to face with the determined first and second years, Daichi feels proud in that moment. “I haven't changed my mind. Everyone on this team should play volleyball because they love it and they want to be here and not out of obligation.” _And I love it a lot less when Suga's not here._ “I'm sorry this is so abrupt.”

“No worries, Sawamura,” Ukai says cautiously. It’s got to be stressful for him too, having to keep the team on track and focused on volleyball through everything. “I'm sorry to see you go.”

“Ennoshita, I know it's not official yet, but you'll make a great captain.” He turns to the other members, reminding himself to be brief. “Tsukishima, take care of Yamaguchi. Shimizu, I'll leave it to you.” _You’re not going to get emotional right now, Daichi. You can hold out five more minutes. If you cry, then they might too, and then how will any of us stop?_ “I'm sorry I didn't mention it sooner.”

Ennoshita steps forward. He bows, saying, “Thank you for everything,” and the team bows too, echoing the second year. A slew of feelings course through him— grief at the end of his high school volleyball career, sadness that so many friends couldn’t be here for this moment, yet also a warm relief at having a bit of pressure lifted from his shoulders. He’s seen members come and go. He’s seen these first years grow and bloom into the players they are now and these second years become so much more reliable. _I need to speak with the trouble makers._ Even he’s changed. Yes, they’ve gone through more than their share of trials and tragedies, but it wasn’t all bad—not even close.

After several more goodbyes, and repeated promises to come back and visit often, Daichi leaves for the hospital. When he arrives, he is told that Suga’s in the physical therapy building, working on walking.

“Should I come back later?”

“No, no,” a nurse says. “He's overdue for a break; he's just so stubborn. Maybe you can convince him to take it easier.”

 _I don’t know if he’ll listen to me either._ He enters the hospital room and makes himself at home on the windowsill, happy that the setter is up and out of this room he’s been confined to for weeks. _“He’s just so stubborn.”_ Daichi snorts. He wonders how much of a hard time Suga’s been giving the nurses, because when the setter puts his mind to something, he sure is a force to be reckoned with. About ten minutes later, Suga is rolled into the room in a wheelchair by two friendly-looking nurses. Suga is dripping with sweat, and his arms are wrapped close to his torso, but he’s smiling and agreeing to whatever the black-haired nurse had said. He's still smiling when he turns to address Daichi, and the brunette finds his throat clogged.

“Daichi,” Suga says, voice still hoarse. “I didn't think you'd be here so early.”

Daichi freezes, mesmerized by this sweaty and red-faced Suga—a version he hasn't seen in well over a month—the extra centimeters of silver hair making it that much more satisfying when the setter pushes it off of his forehead. _Why does he have to be so attractive? Wow._ Daichi blinks and glances away but finds his eyes right back on his friend in a matter of seconds.

“Yeah. I mean, how are you doing?” he says, regaining his bearings. It’s probably good that Daichi arrived earlier than usual, Suga no stranger to overworking himself.  Suga passing out at practice and breaking his nose had been scary, and seeing him in the hospital afterwards had been a wake-up call. That was when everyone finally realized there was something seriously wrong. It was a perspective change, and suddenly, it became more noticeable that Suga was hiding something. Daichi just didn’t know why—and then…he did. “Rape” was a word stacked on top of “bulimia” and worries like depression, so much to process in so little time. And honestly, hearing about Suga working so hard now stirs a bit of fear in the pit of Daichi’s stomach. It’s a little too reminiscent, though there’s also a conflicting relief that the setter is looking forward and working toward something tangible.

Suga says, “Tired, but I’m glad to have visitors. I talked to Yamaguchi this morning.”

“Oh yeah?” With Yamaguchi not coming to school, Tsukishima’s been the one keeping the team updated, assuring them that Yamaguchi’s fine and just taking time with his family right now. Daichi leans back against the window frame. “How was he?”

A shadow of sadness flickers across Suga’s features before being replaced by a more neutral expression. “He was okay. I think talking helped both of us a lot.” Suga smiles at the nurses while speaking to Daichi, saying, “I'm going to take a bath real quick and then we can talk alone.”

“Don't mind us,” one of the nurses teases. “You can talk about whatever you want.”

And he’s right back to thinking about Suga's body—Suga in the bath—and he kind of wants to bang his head against the wall. He wants to stay at the setter’s side, so he’s not keen to make things awkward right now. _Reign in your imagination, Sawamura Daichi, and focus on the important things, like how you’re going to tell him about Nishinoya and Tanaka fighting and you quitting. I just wish I could come to Suga with good news._

“You don't want to hear our boring talk,” Suga says as they wheel him into the small bathroom across from his bed. “About volleyball and all of the classes I missed.”

_I just wish I had some good news._

***

Suga hates this. He hates undressing and bathing like this, but he forces himself to laugh and smile and make conversation with these nurses—anything to distract himself from the feel of their hands on his body or from anxiously wondering what they're thinking of him. If he pretends that it doesn’t bother him long enough, then it’ll come true, right? For now, he simply has to endure it and be thankful that none of his assigned nurses are men. And that thought gets his mind racing because he doesn’t want to think of himself as afraid of men. He’s a man himself.

 _It’s just_ that _man_. _Not the others._ _I’m just overthinking things. I’m letting my mind get ahead of itself._

Suga watches the soapy water ripple away from his hand as he makes a fist and releases it repeatedly, a gesture he definitely took for granted before, but now takes conscious effort. Staring at the little waves warp the bathwater, he knows that there are so many other things besides walking that he must work on to rebuild the strength he lost.

After the bath, the nurses help him dress. Daichi's still sitting at the windowsill when he reenters the room, but Suga doesn't make eye contact, embarrassment lingering just below his skin as the nurses lift him onto the bed and reposition his body. Still, Suga kicks his feet, saying, “See, still strong,” maybe to prove to himself that he could have gone a little bit longer. _So many more steps to take. So much to still do._

“And you’re going to be sore later from how hard you've worked,” says the chatty nurse.

He smiles until they shut the door behind them, and then falls back onto his pile of pillows, sighing. He knows it’s not their fault that he feels so uncomfortable, and he doesn’t want to take out his own discomfort and irritability on them. He doesn’t want to take it out on Daichi either, so Suga takes another deep breath. “I'm so tired, Daichi, and I'm nowhere close to being able to walk on my own.”

“It’s only been a day,” Daichi reminds him, sliding down from the windowsill.

Suga takes a third deep breath, blowing away his frustration at all the things he can’t do right now. “I know,” he says quietly. “I can’t expect to regain everything all at once.”

An awkward smile slips into place before Daichi drops his gaze to his feet, and Suga knows something else is bothering him. Paying close attention to the other's expression, he waits for his friend to be the one to break the silence.

“It’s about the team,” he finally says dejectedly, admitting, “With everything going on, things have been rough, and communication hasn’t been great. With Tsukishima in particular, it’s difficult to talk to him.”

Suga cocks his head, thinking. It makes sense for Tsukishima to be seriously affected by Yamaguchi’s attack. That’s his best friend. Just look at Daichi. The two are in the same position, but their personalities are so different that of course they'd clash.

“Tsukishima's a perceptive guy,” Suga says. “If you've been approaching him with an attitude of 'oh, he's so difficult; I don’t know how to deal with him,' then he's probably picked up on that. He's probably being extra difficult just to spite you.”

“Well, he sure knows how to get under people’s skin.”

“He likes to pick and poke at people, yeah, but just because he’s like that on the outside doesn’t mean he isn’t actually hurting.” He’s reminded of what Yamaguchi said about the inside and outside versions of himself not matching up, and thinks that everybody’s like that to some extent. Suga can see Daichi’s mind working and is hoping that the captain and the blonde can figure out a way to patch things up. “What about the rest of the team?” Suga’s impatient to see them all and talk to them personally. Once he’s talked to the police about Nakamura and they don’t have to keep his condition a secret, he’ll be able to see them.

Daichi bites on his lips, gaze hesitating and troubled, obviously trying to find a subtle way to deliver bad news. He ends up saying it all in one go. “So, Nishinoya and Tanaka were fighting and Kageyama got in the middle of it and came out with a busted lip.”

Suga's eyes go wide. “What? Are they okay? What were they fighting about? When did this happen?”

“I don't know what they were fighting about,” Daichi replies, looking into Suga’s eyes as if for advice on this matter too. “I haven't gotten the chance to talk to them because it happened at the end of lunch, and Kageyama didn't know either.”

The type to want to spare others the pain and responsibility, Daichi’s probably been trying to hold the team together himself this entire time, but sometimes he needs someone to snap him out of his way of thinking. Suga may not be in the position to be a support to the whole team like Daichi often is, but at the very least, to be there for the captain…

“I also resigned from the club,” Daichi adds.

Helplessness rushes through his veins, rendering his body cold and immobile, finding himself consumed by the thought that he might as well still be in a coma for all that’s happening without him. Everything's changing but he's not changing with it—not quickly enough—and he feels distinctly separate from their world. Ah. His head hurts. Is this his fault? How much of this can he fix and how much of it is damage already done, unable to be remedied? _But, it can’t all your fault. Everything’s not always all you fault._ “You resigned?” he finally manages to ask. “What—why didn't you s—today?”

“Yeah, today,” Daichi replies after a long silence.

“Are you regretting it?” he asks, trying to understand Daichi’s unease. Staring at that familiar face, Suga feels a part of himself reaching out for his friend’s world, an aching in his chest, a yearning to walk beside him again. He wants to close any gap that may have grown between them after their fight, after that night he doesn’t remember, after a month of being unconscious.

“I'm worried about them—the way things are right now,” Daichi says, “but I don't think I can help with that. My head's not in it. I want to be here with you, and I'm not saying you're _the_ reason for quitting, it's just that I'm tired of practicing without you there. I've done it for more than a month and now that you're awake, I want to be by your side instead.” After a short pause, “It’s time for the next generation to take over. You know?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“It may be selfish of me, but I'm glad,” Suga says a little defensively. The air is thick with all that they’re not saying—both of them. And he’s sick of it—all of these unsaid feelings living in the basement of his mind, locked up without being able to freely roam or breathe. Suga thinks, maybe he should release them, give them a fighting chance. “I can’t wait to see the team, but I know they’ll be fine. I’m happy you're going to be here with me because I really want you here too,” he says, running a hand through his hair and casting his gaze off into the corner. Thinking aloud, he mumbles, “She said I need to let myself feel things.”

He nods a few times to himself and, despite the heavy atmosphere, decides that now is the time to be completely honest. _I’ll just say it to put it out there and see how it goes. I can’t seem to get that dream I had last night out of my head_. His memories of that night are here, inside of him—he can _feel_ them—so close but unreachable. Suga knows that he called to apologize to Daichi that night and he’s done it, but he knows he’ll regret not speaking his feelings for Daichi. The dream flits through his consciousness again and he suddenly grasps the brunette’s hand firmly.

“I really like you, Daichi,” Suga proclaims, thoroughly shocking the other boy. _How do I lead into something like that gently?_ Surprised at how quickly he manages to find the words, he explains further, “I was scared to admit it because of all that happened, and before that, when I suspected you liked me, I figured we had all the time in the world for me to sort out my own feelings. But things didn't work out that way, and I'm trying to explain, Daichi, but I do like you and I want to be close to you and—” Suga cuts himself off, blushing and holding his head with his free hand. _What else were you going to say, Koushi?_

Daichi’s stunned, still as a statue, lips parted and Suga kind of wants to pull his blankets up over his head. It’s been a month, he reminds himself. Hearing this after so long must be weird for the brunette. He’s probably surprised. It’s not weird that Suga’s saying this now, right?

He’s stuck trying to find excuses in this silence…

“You're not saying anything,” Suga finally points out, unable to take the quiet anymore.

“Sorry,” Daichi says hurriedly, expression breaking into a smile that crinkles his eyes. “I'm just really happy you're saying this.”

Biting back a sigh of relief and wanting to be closer, Suga reaches for Daichi's face, in awe at how such a simple gesture can make the other boy's eyes flit from shock to curiosity to wonder, color rising to his cheeks. Awe at how he, himself, can’t ward off his own blush. However, he can’t leave it at this. He's got to face the bad things too, and for the first time, he truly wants Daichi's help.

“That day, Nakamura threatened me after class to make sure I'd keep my mouth shut,” Suga says, voice thin and lacking natural inflection. “I was so scared, but I knew you were waiting for me out in the hall. When you touched my face...” Suga runs his thumb along Daichi’s cheekbone and the brunette closes his eyes in a long blink. When he opens them again, the intensity of the look sweeps Suga up, heart beating quickly—and it’s this feeling of unsteadiness that he’d been wary of when he’d said those awful things to Daichi at school. He realizes now that it’s not a bad feeling. It’s relinquishing a little of the control over the emotions in your chest and trusting the other person to cherish them, keep you grounded when you feel as though you’ll be blown away. Gathering his thoughts, he continues, “It wasn't entirely that I wanted you to stop. I mean, I wanted my space, but at the same time, I missed it when you pulled your hand back. I think that's also how I felt when we argued.”

“Tell me when it's too much,” Daichi says, “Just tell me when you need your space and I won't push you like before.”

Suga drops his hand to Daichi's shoulder. “You too. I don't want you to be nervous about telling me things, or when you need your space too.”

“Sorry about not noticing back then.”

“That’s not your fault,” Suga replies quietly, and the ex-captain doesn’t blink, looking like he’s checking to make sure Suga really means it. “I was trying to keep it a secret. Part of me wanted to say something—I really did, so many times—but I just _couldn’t_. The thought of even his name made me scared.”

“I think it’s amazing that you’re reporting him,” the brunette says genuinely.

He stops himself from dwelling on the fact that he should have done it sooner and tries to accept Daichi’s compliment. “I hope you know that I wouldn’t have been able to make this decision if it weren’t for you.” The coldness had enveloped his body earlier has completely subsided, combatted by this blush and these warm feelings. Tears form in his eyes. “I was so afraid that no one would believe me. Or if they did, that they would think that I w-wanted it,” he says, tripping on the word _wanted_ , the memory of Nakamura making him say that flashing in his mind. “Or that it was my fault. But you and my parents didn’t react like that. So, thank you for believing me.”

Daichi doesn’t speak right away, gaze unfocused, and when he finally replies, “You don’t have to thank me for that,” he looks so serious. “I’ll always believe you.”

The silver-haired teen lets out a shaky breath.

“So,” Daichi starts slowly, left hand moving to lightly cover their joined hands. “I know this is sudden, but since our feelings are mutual, maybe do you want to date?”

Date. That word fills his heart with both excitement and worry. Suga wants to say _yes_ , yet he can't shake this anxiety of not being good enough. He feels lacking, and he can’t justify his self-worth even in his head with the weight of so many doubts pressing down on his heart. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks he needs to come with a printed disclaimer on his forehead: _“Damaged.”_ Simply considering voicing his thoughts causes his throat to constrict painfully.

Embarrassment eating away at his voice, he attempts to explain. “I really like you, Daichi, and I want you to be happy. I just don't know when I'll be okay with, you know...anything physical. This is okay,” he says, squeezing Daichi's hand, “and hugging, but I don't know about other—”

“Sex isn't a deal breaker, Suga,” the brunette says, sitting forward. Suga’s eyes widen. Beneath the intensity, there’s a gentleness to Daichi’s gaze that puts the setter at ease. “There are so many things I love about you besides your body. If you say you're only comfortable with holding hands, I will become the best hand holder ever.”

Suga closes his eyes.

There was a time—not that long ago—when this didn’t seem possible. Being in a relationship, someone caring about him like this, someone _looking_ at him like this, seemed like a distant daydream. But Daichi’s holding his hand firmly, he asked ‘do you want to date,’ he said sex wasn’t a deal breaker. Suga appreciates the straightforwardness. He breathes easier knowing that he doesn’t have to pretend with Daichi, his experience not just a weight on his shoulders made heavier by someone else’s desire to keep things hush hush and unspoken, but something that Daichi will help carry it too. The brunette seems to know that it’s not something that can be brushed off for the sake of convenience. _But he still wants to be with me anyways._

Suga cracks a smile, opening his eyes even though they’re misty again.

“I will,” Daichi assures him, grinning like earlier. “You won't want to hold anyone else's hand.”

Laughing slightly, he whispers, “Daichi?” and suddenly the name he’s uttered hundreds of times before feels different on his lips. It’s like their confessions have altered the weight or the tone or the shape of the syllables in some way, and it’s strange.

“Yeah?”

_Don’t think I didn’t catch you say “love.”_

“I'll hold you to that promise,” Suga says instead, basking in Daichi’s warm expression. _One day I'll make you tell me what those other things you love about me are, and I’ll ask you if my name also suddenly felt wondrously foreign to you, but today this is enough._

Daichi lays his head down on Suga's blanketed legs, gazing up softly. “Is this okay?”

His heart flutters. Suga surely won't survive these looks Daichi casts his way, and he wonders when exactly they began began. Stroking Daichi’s hair slowly, he murmurs, “yeah,” right before the brunette closes his eyes. He looks so content in this moment, Suga can't help but stare.

After a few minutes of Daichi’s steady breathing, Suga whispers his name, garnering no response. Smiling idly and with so many thoughts running through his head, Suga continues caressing the other boy’s hair. “You know, Daichi, I had a dream last night that you told me you loved me. You said it so many times—said you felt lost without me.” Suga studies the sleeping boy's face. “I know it was just a dream, but that gave me the courage to confess to you just now. The truth is, I know I'd be pretty lost without you too.”

***

Daichi wakes up to his phone vibrating in his pocket. As he sits up, his movements stir Suga, and they detach their sweaty hands, the silver-haired setter frowning deeply. Daichi stretches, and that's when he notices food on the bedside table. Two takeout containers and two large drinks with each of their names written on them.

“I think your parents were here,” Daichi notes. The other boy nods sleepily and returns to staring blankly at the opposite wall.

Remembering that his phone is what woke him, Daichi pulls it from his pocket, finding a message from his mom which only says his name. Curiosity nudges him. Cell service cuts out before he can even begin to compose a response to the text. It's always like this at the hospital, so he really shouldn’t be surprised.

“If you move two inches this way, you'll have better service,” Suga says, face softening slightly and eyes more alert than they’d been a minute ago. “At least, that's how it is for me.”

Daichi scoots his chair to the right and his phone instantly starts vibrating and beeping, stopping only after thirty straight seconds. During the following silence, the teens exchange a look and then Daichi scrolls to the first message from his mom:

_‘Where are you?’_

His stomach drops. It dawns on him then, looking at all the missed calls from both of his parents, that tonight was the dinner with his dad's friend. Checking the time on the off chance that he hasn’t completely missed it, he sees that it's already well past nine. Hopeless.

“Is everything okay?” Suga asks.

Daichi sighs and stands. No part of him had wanted to go, but now that he’s missed it, Daichi feels guilty. “I missed this dinner meeting my dad arranged with one of his old college friends,” he explains. “I think it was a big deal.”

“You should go,” the setter says. “Apologize to them.”

“I didn't want to go in the first place,” Daichi replies, sighing again, yet, he still rushes around to grab his belongings. He’s already thinking up excuses. Scooping up his drink and takeout box, Daichi starts to leave with heavily laden arms, turning back in the doorway. “I'll come back tomorrow,” Daichi promises.

_It’s fortunate that there’s no school tomorrow. I don’t have to wait an entire day to see Suga again._

“Check in with Tanaka and Nishinoya first.”

Daichi nods and smiles at his boyfriend.

Suga smiles back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -I need to get this off my chest: the first draft of this chapter was so bad, I couldn't bear to look at it for like a month! Every time I went to edit, I'd get two sentences in and laugh/cry because it was so bad  
> -And I'm not asking for compliments; I'm asking for advice: Fellow Writers, how dost thou combat the hopelessness and despair of editing utter crap??? I try to tell myself that it can't get worse, that it can only get better, but that mantra has failed me...  
> -In other news, next chapter will see the return of some dramamaramamaramamahey


	19. Three. Two. One.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another long ass chapter; get some snacks

Breath visible in the night air, Daichi clutches onto the last dregs of warmth from his takeout box, having already downed his drink and stuffed his crumpled cup in his bag. _I've officially got a boyfriend now,_ he thinks, body a mix of giddiness and nervousness _._ Given how reluctant the setter said he was to accept his own feelings, Daichi’s sort of surprised Suga accepted his. The fact that Suga doesn’t remember what he’d said on the phone is still strange to consider, though he supposes it doesn’t matter now. Just, the way Suga stroked his hair was heavenly. Tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

On his doorstep, he heaves in a deep breath, coughing from the cold. He doesn’t want to go inside just yet, but he must, though he can endure the oncoming lecture knowing that Suga is his boyfriend. A stupid smile spreads across his face and he hastens to hide it as he walks through the front door because he's supposed to look apologetic.

Slipping off his shoes and padding quietly around the corner, he barely makes it to the stairs when his mother barks his name and Daichi freezes. _Apologetic; not guilty. Just say you're sorry and hope it’s only a lecture._ Schooling his expression into something he thinks is acceptable for the situation, the teen faces his parents.

“Where have you been? Why haven't you been answering our calls?” his mom asks sternly, his dad standing a few paces away, arms crossed and biding his time. They must have prearranged the parts that each were going to say.

Stepping away from the stairs, Daichi says, “I'm sorry,” and he kind of is but kind of isn’t... “I completely forgot about the dinner tonight. I'm sorry.”

“Where were you?” she repeats, unmoved.

“The hospital,” he replies, and the matching looks of impatience that cross his parents’ faces at this make him rush to explain. “Cell service is really bad there, so I didn't get your messages until right now. I didn't—”

His mother's hand cuts through the air like an arrow, effectively silencing him midsentence. “This is what we're talking about, Daichi. You're so preoccupied with hanging around the hospital that you forget important obligations.”

“I'm sorry,” Daichi says, hating how his mom is able to use this against him, because it’s like they were waiting for him to mess up. He’s mad at himself for giving them this ammunition when he’s been working so hard in school for this very reason. Daichi’s serious when he replies, “It won't happen again.”

“You're right it won't happen again,” his dad jumps in, pointing his finger. “Because you're not going to be wasting your time at that hospital anymore. You're going to be working at your uncle's restaurant after school to learn some discipline.”

“Huh?” Indignation battles Daichi’s confusion, and, searching for solid footing when he feels like the ground is slowly shifting underneath his feet, he inquires, “What do you mean?”

“It's about time you retired from your club,” his dad barrels on dismissively. Even though he already retired, coming from his dad it sounds callous. Wide-eyed, Daichi, turns to his mom for support or even just further explanation.

“What we mean is that after school you will go to your uncle's restaurant and do whatever job he tells you to for however long he needs you. You will come straight home after that, eat dinner, and do your homework. You will learn to keep appointments, Daichi.”

“I _forgot,_ Mom,” Daichi argues. “It was just the one time.”

“You’re being complacent. You sit around at the hospital, you do the minimum required studying, you go traipsing all around town, you ran out in the middle of class on Wednesday, were late today,” his father lists angrily. “You think we wouldn't hear about that?”

“That was—” Daichi searches for a way to explain to his parents, a way to impress upon them how important this is to him, but his own patience is waning and he doesn’t think they’ll ever understand. Even if they think that visiting Suga is a waste of time, he should try to explain because he doesn’t want a repeat of his last fight with his dad. “That—”

His mom snaps, “Stop being difficult, Daichi,” and he winces.

 _Just do as we say,_ their eyes shout.

He’s done what they said. He’s followed their wishes, too often at the expense of his own, and it used to be painless to pretend to be the son they expected, but it’s getting harder and harder to maintain that image. The takeout box feels like lead in his hand, and his heart feels just as heavy. “Suga woke up, Mom. He woke up from the coma and he's doing physical therapy because he can’t walk, and he needs some help.”

She sighs heavily, looking more tired. “I know you're trying to be a good friend—and you have been. You don't need to prove that,” his mother says, and—Daichi feels like screaming—she just doesn't get it. “And we’ve let you go all this time, but this is your _future_ we're talking about. So, stop this nonsense.”

“It's better this way,” his father adds. “If you keep hanging around someone like that, people are going to say things.”

Daichi's blood boils, a bubbling concoction of disbelief and irritation. “Say what kinds of things?” he asks, finding it difficult to form the words because he wants to yell them.

“You know what things.” His father glares. “That you're one of those kinds. That you prefer men.”

His face grows hot and his heart thuds erratically, yet the floor finally seems to have stilled beneath his feet as he says, “What if I do?”

“’What if you do?’ Don't joke like that, Daichi.”

His dad's face darkness and Daichi has never felt so anxious. Throat clogged, he grits his teeth against the overeager beating of his heart and decides he's sick of this facade he's constructed. He says, “I'm not joking, Dad.”

“Daichi...” his mom murmurs.

“I'm gay,” Daichi manages, and maybe his secret was the lead that encased his heart, which is why it always felt so heavy around them. He doesn’t really get it, but it’s easier to continue now that he’s started. “I like men. And I love Suga. I have for a really long time.”

A thick silence settles in around them like fog, and he's not sure whether either of his parents are breathing. His mom looks like she's going to faint. His father is the first to break the silence, voice the false calm of a barely concealed threat. “If you apologize and go to your room, I will pretend like I didn't hear what you said just now.”

That tone almost makes the teen take a step back, sensing more danger than refuge in the words, yet a part of Daichi considers taking his father up on his offer. It’s something he’s immediately ashamed of. He’s admitted it; however, now that it's out in the open, his parents don't want to face it, his mom looking as if she'd rather feign ignorance also. Daichi's chest aches.

“Daichi,” his dad prompts.

 _He was actually expecting an answer?_ Shaking his head slowly, he says, “I can't change who I am.”

“I don't want you seeing that boy anymore,” his dad says, as if his son hadn't spoken. “That little bastard is filling your head with ridiculous—”

“That’s not going to change any of this,” Daichi responds with a raised voice. “I was gay before I met him, and I’ll keep on—”

His dad steps forward, body a flash of movement, and Daichi flinches reflexively, expecting to be hit like last time. It's not a punch. His box of food is knocked upwards, teriyaki sauce splattering Daichi's face, noodles and vegetables cascading down his shirtfront and plopping at his feet. He stands there for a second, utterly shocked, and then his dad's angry voice breaks through his rising humiliation.

“Don’t you dare raise your voice at me,” his father growls. “If you are under our roof, you will follow the rules your mother and I set out for you. If you can't do that, then get out of my house.”

Daichi wipes at his face with a trembling hand, his resolve crumbling under his parents’ glares. _Is this really worth losing my family over? Am I really worth—_ The takeout container and all of its spilled contents catch his eye, and Daichi takes a breath. He’s worth more than that. He doesn’t deserve to have his true self dismissed and tossed aside like that. _I can’t go back to how I was before_. He decides, _yes, my happiness is worth it._

Suga’s face flashes in his mind. There's no way he'd leave the silver-haired teen at a time like this. Daichi recalls Suga's parents' response to his confession—how happy and unbothered they had been about the other teen being a guy because they just wanted their son to be loved. Daichi thinks, _that's how family should react. Not with this ultimatum. Not with this anger. Parents are supposed to love their children unconditionally._

“Get out,” his dad says, expression a mashup of disgust and anger that makes the teen wince. “If it's taking you that long to decide, then we don't want you. Pack your stuff and when you leave, don't think about coming back.”

“I wouldn't want to,” Daichi says to distract himself from the way his dad said 'we don't want you' and the fact that his mother hasn't refuted a single word. He rushes up the stairs and locks himself in his room, breathing unsteady—still shocked, still hurt, unsure about what he's going to do and where he’s going to go. Right now the only thing he can do is pack. _Focus on that,_ he tells himself as he hauls his luggage from the closet. He starts tossing clothes into his biggest suitcase indiscriminately, moving around in the dark effortlessly.

_“We don't want you.”_

_“Don't think about coming back.”_

Those things are playing on repeat in Daichi’s mind right now and they won’t stop. He knew they would react badly, but he didn't think it would end like this. He chokes on a laugh that doesn’t quite sound like a laugh, unable to escape the smell of teriyaki, his shirt, jacket, and face covered in it. He's in too much of a rush to change out of his soiled clothes.

In addition to clothes and shoes, he stuffs as many books and magazines and movies and random junk as he can into his suitcase, knowing there's no way his entire room will fit. Casting one last look at everything he has to leave behind, he braces himself before opening his bedroom door and trotting down the stairs.

He sidesteps the messy carpet, glancing over his shoulder and briefly making eye contact with his dad. _I won’t apologize. I can’t go back to who I pretended to be and I won’t apologize for who I am._ His father's gaze is equally unapologetic, and nothing else is said as Daichi leaves through the front door. It's something he's done a million times before. But the finality of this time makes him glance back from the road.

The temperature seems to have dropped another ten degrees since he was last outside, fingers beginning to feel numb after only a few minutes. Despite that, he walks slowly. The streets are quiet, except for the occasional car, which causes the loneliness to surface even though he keeps trying to push it away. Daichi walks in the middle of the street. He's alone. His parents said they don't want him. He wonders if he'll ever see them again, because right now it feels like this chasm will remain wide forever.

Why is it such a big deal that he missed one dinner? Why does it matter if he wants to date a guy? He wants to believe that they didn’t mean any of it, that they’ll change their minds in the morning, but can people change that much in one night?

The street turns bumpy and cracked, and his suitcase gets harder to pull. What is he going to do? Tonight is one thing, but he can't rely on other people's kindness forever. He has some money saved up, but he'll definitely need to get a job to get his own place. That’ll cut in on his time with Suga, which is what his parents wanted in the first place and, fuck, he's mad that things are going their way. He’ll make it work though, so that this time he can live on his own terms.

When he reaches Suga's house, he's instantly alerted to the fact that the boy's parents aren't home by the empty driveway. He settles himself on the porch, leaning against his suitcase and not even worried about how pathetic he must look. He feels so alone, and he just wants to talk to Suga.

His mind runs on a cyclical track. _“We don't want you. Get out.” What am I going to do? I don't want to be alone. Maybe they didn't mean it. But they probably did. I'll be better off. I want to be happy as me. “We don’t want you. Get out.” What am I going to do?_

It's a while later when Daichi hears two cars pull into the driveway and the voices of Suga's parents as they approach their house. Suddenly nervous about speaking to them, he doesn't lift his head until they're practically in front of him.

“Daichi-chan, what's wrong?” the woman asks, crouching down and placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re freezing! Let’s get inside.”

He feels like such a child, and he knows that he's going to have to take care of himself from now on, but he just wants to curl up somewhere warm and cry until he can fall asleep. He doesn't want to worry about what's going to happen tomorrow. Daichi doesn't want to think about that yet.

“What happened, son?” Suga's dad asks quietly once they’ve sat down at the dining room table.

“My parents kicked me out,” the brunette replies, staring at his lap. He breathes in deep through his nose and blinks away all remnants of water in his eyes. “I finally told them I was gay and they—they didn't take it very well.”

 _Nope,_ Daichi decides after a moment of reflection. _Euphemisms and understatements don't make this easier. Shit, you decided to do this, didn’t you? You decided for yourself that you valued yourself more than what they thought._

_Why does it hurt this much?_

“Oh, Daichi,” Suga's mom says, voice distressed. “I’m so sorry to hear that. You can stay here as long as you like. What do you think?” she turns to her husband.

“Stay as long as you need. You're basically family already. You've done so much for Koushi.”

He's about to argue, tell them he’s only asking for tonight, but honestly, he’s not sure he can figure it out by tomorrow night either. He nods, deciding to leave it for now and the parents smile softly in return.

“Why don't you go shower. You can put your stuff in the guest room. And then come back down to the kitchen for a bit.” The man must recognize the nerves in the teen's eyes because he hastens to add, “You haven't had dinner, right?”

Daichi gazes down at the state of his clothes and shakes his head. So, he goes and takes a shower. He eats some pizza Suga’s mom ordered and drinks hot chocolate, opening up a little about the fight. Suga’s mom again tells Daichi to stay as long he wants, saying that her son would want that too. Daichi would love to stay here if Suga would have him. Even working, he'd still get to see the silver-haired boy all the time. He doesn't want to get his hopes up. But for now, he lets Suga's parents take care of him and he curls up under the blankets in the guest room dry-eyed and slightly less scared of what tomorrow will bring.

***

Friday flies by, and Saturday is upon Suga before he’s ready. He’s having a hard time focusing on his morning exercises while his mind is preoccupied with thoughts of his meeting with the police scheduled for the afternoon. Stomach already in knots, he sweeps his gaze around his room, lingering on each empty chair and filling them with his memories of yesterday, with the people who sat there.

_His dad dropped by early in the morning on his way to work. He didn’t stay long, and he didn’t say much—which is how it’s been between them since the teen awoke from his coma. His dad had apologized for apparently saying some insensitive things hours before Suga’s suicide attempt, but the thing is that the teen didn’t remember the event at all. Suga’s been at a loss.  He had accepted his father’s apology because the man looked so distressed, but there’s a sadness that has remained around the shadow of his eyes whenever they’re alone like that._

_So, his dad stayed for a few minutes, asked a few questions concerning his physical recovery, and promised to come back for lunch. “I’m proud of you, Koushi,” the man said seriously from the doorway. “I love you.”_

_His mom stayed for longer when she came. She brought him an array of sweets, talked to the nurses for a long time about his treatment, played a round of rummy with him. She didn’t ask him a million questions about how he was feeling, which Suga found strange._ Maybe she’s switching tactics, _he thought as she got ready to leave._

_Daichi showed up just before noon looking exhausted and on edge. He didn’t say much in the beginning, letting Suga talk about his morning and other, pointless things, and Suga filled the silence because his chatter seemed to calm the brunette. When Daichi finally spoke, it was quietly, hands subconsciously playing with the corner of one of Suga’s blankets._

_“I couldn’t get in contact with Tanaka. But when I went to Nishinoya’s house, he said that they weren’t really fighting—just roughhousing—and that the Vice Principal just blew it out of proportion.” Daichi stopped fiddling with the blanket. He sighed and said, “He assured me that it wasn’t a big deal, just a squabble over food. Apparently Ennoshita had already been around to scold him too.”_

_“Are you sure it was nothing?”_

_The other teen looked to be considering it again. “I don’t see why Nishinoya would lie about this. And you know the vice-principal has it out for the volleyball team.”_

_And then he told Suga about fighting with his parents over missing the meeting—how he told them he was gay, and how he was kicked out when he refused to stop seeing Suga. He said they wanted him to apologize and pretend like nothing had happened, like he wasn’t really gay. Suga bit back every indignant retort while Daichi was telling his story, but when the brunette finished, all the setter could say was, “I’m so sorry, Daichi.” He felt sick just hearing about how Daichi was treated. “You can just live with me,” he then said, trying for lightness, though he knew that this wouldn’t be easy for his boyfriend to come to terms with. “We have the extra room, so don’t think you’re imposing or anything like that.”_

_Nodding, Daichi swallowed and forced a laugh. “It’s funny. I haven’t been spending much time at home recently, and before that, it’s not like I’ve been particularly close with either of my parents for a while, but it still…” He bit down hard on his lip and blinked away the tears. “It still hurt.”_

_“Hearing something like that from your family is going to hurt,” Suga said softly. “It’s not your fault, though. It’s their problem. The day I woke up, my mom said ‘people are going to take it how they do, and they only thing you can do is build yourself up high enough so that the negativity can’t tear you down.’ I mean, she said it to me about trying to keep quiet about the rape, but I think it’s also true here.”_

_Daichi looked pensive, and then he said, “It’s been so long. I kind of feel like I’d have to build from the ground up.”_

_Suga’s parents brought lunch, and the four of them ate together in that room, talking and occasionally laughing, and it warmed Suga to see both his dad’s and Daichi’s expressions brighten a bit. Even though there were some troubling things happening, it just didn’t seem like they would stay that way for long._

Suga blinks. Yesterday wasn’t a bad day. He didn’t feel the stress of Saturday afternoon like he does now. The sight of his breakfast only makes his stomach twist further because how can he eat at a time like this? He hasn’t let himself think about all this since deciding to report. Now the anxiety substitutes his food, filling him so completely that the idea of eating anything off his plate makes him gag. _What if Nakamura was right about the police not believing me? What if Nakamura was right about no one else understanding me? What if_ —Damn, he feels sick. The food seems to stare back at him. _I can’t eat that. What if I get so nervous while the officer is asking questions that I puke? I can’t eat this or lunch. I shouldn’t have eaten dinner last night either._

No, he’s going to be sick right now. _Bathroom. I can at least make it that far._ Suga swings his legs over the edge of the bed, gripping the railing tightly as his stomach swirls around dangerously inside his body. The distance to cover is a mere five feet. The first step is fine since he’s still supporting himself mostly with his upper body strength, but the moment he lets go of the railing, his knees buckle and he collapses to the floor. He throws an arm out in an attempt to catch himself but only manages to topple his breakfast plate down with him.

Staring at the floor in frustration, tears well in his eyes. “Damn,” he whispers. Unable to pull himself up, Suga waits for someone to help him, feeling terribly pathetic in this moment. He’s been so confident because he thought the scariest thing was dying and that almost happened. His gaze is immediately drawn to his covered forearms. How is someone like him supposed to convince the police, a court, a jury about what happened? His mom told him that he’d had a rape kit done, but there are still other things that can go wrong. Like what if they start asking about the first time and why he didn’t say anything then? What if they find out he ejaculated? How much detail will they want to go into?

 _I can’t do this._ “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it.”

“Sugawara-kun.”

Suga opens his eyes, realizing that one of his nurses is here and trying to help him up.

“You _can_ do it,” she says firmly and Suga’s eyes go wide. She helps him to his feet. “Were you trying to get to the bathroom?”

He hesitates, still vaguely nauseous. Suga’s mind is chaotic right now, dark thoughts— _you should still do it; it’d be better to be empty when talking to the police; can’t you feel the weight of everything inside; isn’t it disgusting; get rid of it, get rid of it, get rid of it_ —echoing around. Feeling uneasy, like there’s an itch beneath his skin he can’t quite reach, he shakes his head determinedly.

She helps him into bed, wipes the floor while he cleans his sleeves, and then she tucks him in. Suga is surprised by this—even more so when she tells him, voice unwavering, “Keep fighting.”

***

Tsukishima Kei didn’t expect the park to be this crowded on a Saturday morning. His gaze slides over the moms shepherding their small children down the path to the climbing toys, the joggers looping around the park, and the cars driving past. Maybe he should change the meeting place. Maybe this is too out in the open. Focusing back on his phone and hunching his shoulders against the wind, Tsukishima reaffirms his previous conviction of there not being anything suspicious about four high schoolers meeting in a park on Saturday.

He busies himself by scrolling through twitter mindlessly, fingers growing colder the longer he sits at that bench. His surroundings fade away so that he doesn’t notice the person until they plop down next to him. By that time, he’s managed to bury every grain of doubt and rekindle his anger and indignation. Tsukishima knows he can’t be talked out of this so easily, though this particular second year is not likely to try.

“Why’d you come so early?” Nishinoya asks, scanning the park. “You look like a popsicle.”

Tsukishima puts his phone on airplane mode before shoving it and both hands into his pockets. He tries to look indifferent. “I’m fine,” he says. “The sooner we’re all here, the sooner we can go.”

“Ryuu’s coming,” the libero responds, nodding off into the distance, and Tsukishima follows his line of sight to the figure hurrying in their direction. There’s a part of the first year that is actually surprised that these two are here. He’s nervous about their plans, but he doesn’t give that part of himself any time to ruminate with those feelings. _That’s pointless right now. That won’t help Yamaguchi._ His hands curl into fists in his pockets.

When Tanaka comes to a stop in front of them, the wing spiker’s expression is concerned. “Listen,” Tanaka sighs, and the first year steels himself against the tide of resistance he knows is coming. “I don’t know if we should be doing this. What we did at school was one thing. This? This is actually dangerous, you know?”

“We’ve come this far, Ryuu,” Nishinoya says, standing. Tsukishima doesn’t move. “We’ve got a plan. We can end this.”

Tanaka looks torn.

Gritting his teeth, Tsukishima grows more frustrated and impatient with this conversation by the second. He chose them because of their rashness and passion. “You don’t have to come,” he says, staring daggers into Tanaka, which only makes the second year bristle. “You did your part; I’ll give you that. But I’m going—alone if I have to—and nothing you say can stop me.”

“Alone?” Tanaka repeats looking horrorstruck. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Listen, you brat—”

“He’s not going to be alone.”

Tanaka turns to the libero and they exchange a long look. “Noya.” He swallows. “Are we really doing this?”

Nishinoya nods, and then says, “I don’t think Kageyama’s coming. If he were, he would have been here by now.”

Though it’s still early, Tsukishima agrees, and he’s silent for a minute. The setter seemed the most resistant of the three. So what if Kageyama chickened out? It’s easy for the setter, for Tanaka and even Nishinoya to change their minds—to decide _no, it’s all too dangerous and ridiculous_. That bastard didn’t hurt them, or their best friend. They didn’t hear the horrid, disgusting things that man did to Yamaguchi. They didn’t sit with the boy for hours while he cried. They didn’t see the state of his clothes, they didn’t see the fear in his eyes, they didn’t see the tremor in his hands when he wrote out that name and presented it to Tsukishima Tuesday night. Finally, the blonde knew who had hurt his friend and he couldn’t just let it go.

_So, yeah, that damn king is free to change his mind._

“Let’s go,” is all he says as he stands and pushes past the second years.

***

It’s still surreal to see Suga awake and talking. Yamaguchi catches himself staring a few times and hastily looks instead to his notebook or Suga’s copy of Monthly Volleyball on the bedside table, hoping that he won’t be asked to explain. The Yamaguchi glances up occasionally, not following Suga and Daichi’s conversation, but enjoying being here with them nonetheless. Even though the sky is painted in gray outside, the white lights of this room are bright and fill every corner.

Smiling idly, Yamaguchi flips to an empty page, fiddling with his pen. The faint outline of script bleeds through from the last page, giving him an impression of not completely leaving those thoughts behind. There’s four pages like it before that one. So far, despite all of the words he’s written, Yamaguchi can’t string the sentences together. Nothing sounds right to him. Nothing matches with what he actually wants to say, and he’s never found words so lacking in his life. Yet, it feels more like a challenge than something hopeless.

“Daichi, let’s arm wrestle,” Suga suddenly chirps, and Yamaguchi almost laughs at how out of nowhere this request it.

“What? Why?” Daichi looks just as shocked as Yamaguchi.

Suga stretches his arms, a wide grin brightening his face. “All of this physical therapy has really been helping me regain my strength. I feel so much stronger than I did when I woke up. I just want to test it out.”

“I’m not going to arm wrestle you, Suga,” Daichi replies. “I can’t arm wrestle a hospital patient.”

Yamaguchi laughs lightly, unable to discern whether his senpai is being completely serious with his request. It’s nice seeing Suga laugh and seeing Daichi’s response. It’s been so long since he’s seen them together like this. It makes the first year wish Tsukki were here. When he saw his friend last night, the blonde was in a better mood than usual, surprisingly talkative and agreeable, not bothering Yamaguchi about completing his assignments on time. _I’ll see what Tsukki’s doing after this visit._

“You could just go easy on me.”

“You would be mad if I went easy on you,” Daichi volleys indignantly.

Suga sighs, but smiles while he does, murmuring, “Yeah. Probably. How about you, Yamaguchi?”

“Uh. I don’t think that’s the best idea,” Yamaguchi says carefully. He closes his notebook. “What kind of exercises do you do?” he asks curiously, and Suga explains in detail. It sounds like a lot of work just to get his body back to being able to perform normal tasks.

The atmosphere shifts when Daichi’s phone rings. The ex-captain flinches, but otherwise doesn’t move to answer it until Suga whispers, “Want me to check?” Shaking his head, Daichi pulls out his phone, entire body relaxing when he announces that it’s just Kageyama and answers it. Yamaguchi, confused by this exchange, looks to Suga for a hint, but the other teen’s gaze is glued to Daichi.

“Wait,” Daichi says, brow furrowed. “Kageyama. Hinata. I can’t understand anything when you’re both talking at once.”

Suga motions for him to put it on speakerphone.

_“—you idiot, Hinata. You dumbass, give me back my phone—”_

_“—shut up, Kageyama, I’m trying—”_

_“You’ll just worry him more, you moron.”_

_“—to talk to Daichi-san!”_

“What’s going on?” Daichi asks, adding, sternly, “Kageyama, let Hinata speak.”

 _“Captain—er, I mean, Daichi-san!”_ Hinata says breathlessly, sounding as if he’s finally succeeded in wrestling the phone away from the first year setter. Yamaguchi can imagine it clearly. _“Tsukishima, Tanaka-senpai, and Nishinoya-senpai are planning something crazy!”_

At which point Daichi, Suga, and Yamaguchi all look each other in a shocked silence. _Tsukki and the others are planning something…?_ A nervous flutter rises to the freckled first year’s throat as he contemplates what that could even mean.

 _“Hinata, you dumbass,”_ Kageyama mutters in the background.

“What do you mean? What are they planning?” Daichi’s voice is surprisingly calm.

 _“They want to confront the teacher that hurt Yamaguchi and Suga-san,”_ Hinata replies. Yamaguchi grows cold at the words. _No. Nakamura is—no._ He doesn’t want Tsukki or any of them near that teacher. The black and white blobs on his notebook’s cover start to bleed together as he stares too hard at it, caught up in his thoughts of _no no nonononono. No._

The freckled teen hears Daichi curse under his breath and wonder aloud, “How’d they even know who it was?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Yamaguchi says, in a small voice, “I told Tsukki it was Nakamura.” _Is this happening because of what I said?_ The weight of Suga and Daichi’s gazes feels heavy and the first year wants to curl in on himself more. “The evening you asked me if it was a teacher—that’s when I told him. I thought I sort of felt a little better afterwards, so when Tsukki came over to my house that evening, I thought I’d try talking to him. So, I was the one who told him, but I didn’t think he’d—”

“It’s not your fault,” Suga says soothingly. “It’s a good thing that you were able to open up to Tsukishima, okay? Don’t think that you shouldn’t have spoken, because I’m glad you did. It took me so long.”

“If Tsukishima had found out on his own, it wouldn’t have changed his actions,” Daichi adds. “Now, what—”

 _“Was that Sugawara-san?”_ Kageyama asks in astonishment.

Suga’s eyes go wide at his mistake, but he promptly regains his composure, expression more serious than ever. “Yes, it’s me. I know it’s really surprising, but right now we need to focus on what’s going on. Kageyama?”

 _“Yes,”_ the younger teen replies immediately, while Hinata sings in the background, _“Suga-san is back! Suga-san is awake! Suga-san! Suga-san!”_

“Why did you try to keep Hinata from telling Daichi? Do you know more about the other three’s plan?”

 _“It was meant to be a secret between the four of us,”_ Kageyama admits after a long pause. _“No one else was supposed to know.”_

Yamaguchi swallows. _Tsukki didn’t let on that he was planning anything. But maybe that’s the real reason he asked me not to go to school this week. Maybe that’s why he wasn’t pestering me about my homework last night—because he had other things on his mind. Tsukki. What are you thinking?_

“Go on, please,” Suga says and the younger setter sighs.

_“Tsukishima talked to me at lunch on Wednesday—said he knew who had hurt Yamaguchi and Sugawara-san, that it was a teacher at Karasuno. He said that there was no one to speak out against Nakamura-sensei, but if we could make him confess then we could turn him in. He said, ‘what if that asshole went after Hinata next?’ And it could happen. To any of us. So, I agreed to help him.”_

_“Kageyama, were you worried about me?”_ Hinata asks in a voice full of awe. When the setter doesn’t respond, he says, quietly but still indignant, _“I’m older than you, you know. You don’t have to protect me.”_

Yamaguchi thinks of how desperate Tsukki must have felt to ask Kageyama, of all people, for help. And with something like this. _Tsukki, how come you’re doing something so stupid? I don’t want you to do something stupid because of me. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger._ Yamaguchi tries to call his friend, but it immediately goes to voicemail. _Dammit, Tsukki._ He wipes the tears from his eyes before they have the chance to fall.  

“What do you mean by ‘make him confess’?” The stress and worry in Suga’s voice is unfiltered.

Kageyama coughs awkwardly, and everyone in the hospital room practically sits on the edge of their seats. He replies, _“Make him confess by force. Tsukishima said ‘by any means necessary.’”_

“Daichi,” Suga says suddenly, sending a look that’s packed with alarm and several other unspoken things.

“I know,” the third year replies, not breaking eye contact with Suga. “Even if Nakamura didn’t fight back, the fact that they concocted and executed a plan to ambush someone, no matter the reason, could be really bad for them if the police got involved.”

“We have to stop them.” The third year setter’s expression is so pained, Yamaguchi finds himself mirroring it. He dials Tsukki’s number again, only to have it go straight to voicemail like before. If he could just talk to Tsukki, he could change his mind, convince him that this is a crazy, dangerous plan. Well, there’s no guarantee he could stop his friend, but if he at least had the chance to try.

“I’m assuming they’re doing this soon?” Daichi asks. He moves to stand but is pulled back down by Suga.

Suga says, “If you move right now, the call could drop and who knows if we’ll be able to contact them again right away.”

 _“They’re supposed to meet at 11:30,”_ Hinata answers. _“At Kanda Park.”_

“Shit. It’s already 11:11,” Daichi mutters.

“Kanda Park is close,” Suga says. “It’s only about ten minutes away.”

 _Please, let them be okay,_ the pinch server prays.

 _“I’ll text you Nakamura’s address, in case you don’t find them at the park,”_ Kageyama says.

“How in the hell did you guys find out his address?” Daichi asks, dumbfounded.

_“Tsukishima snuck into the principal’s office and found it in the teachers’ files.”_

“So that fight?”

_“It was a diversion so that Tsukishima could get the address.”_

Daichi sighs, blowing away all external unease. “Okay. Send me the address, and you two stay put. I’ll call you again after everything’s sorted out. Just promise me that you’ll stay there.”

He waits for them to agree and then hangs up, staring at his phone in silence for a full thirty seconds before looking up. Yamaguchi is speechless, gripping his own cell like a lifeline. He knows that if he tries to call again, he’ll just be left with the same result, and that thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth that he can’t swallow away.

Suga is the first to move, throwing off his blankets, a fire in his eyes the first year hasn’t seen in a while. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

“I know what you’re thinking, Suga, and it’s ridiculous,” Daichi says immediately.

“And I know what you’re thinking,” Suga fires back, shaking his head. “Damn you, Daichi, if you think I’m going to let you go by yourself. I can’t just sit back anymore while you’re all in danger.”

“Suga, you can’t even walk!”

The first year follows their argument like a tennis match, feeling like he shouldn’t be here but also wanting to stop them from fighting. He knows how badly both of them were hurt after their last disagreement, and he doesn’t want that to happen again, but he doesn’t know if he should say anything. He wants so badly to help Suga; they just need a plan.

“I know there’s a time limit,” Suga says then, passionately. “I know I’ll just slow you down, and I probably should let you go on your own, but I can’t. I’m scared for you, and Nishinoya and Tanaka and Tsukishima.” The desperation is evident in his expression and voice. “But honestly I’m the most scared for myself. I’m afraid I’ll continue being this passive person—like how I just went to school and pretended like nothing had happened, even when I saw him every day, even when he touched me again. I don’t want to get used to staying silent. I don’t want to get used to hiding from him and having other people fight my battles for me. I have to at least be there.”

“How?”

“I have an idea,” Yamaguchi pipes up, fighting against all of the thoughts in his head that say, scathingly, _it’s a stupid idea; you don’t know what you’re talking about; they didn’t ask you_. “We need a wheelchair for Suga to use. Since the nurses on this floor know the three of us and would be suspicious of us asking for one, we’ll have to get it from the floor below and sneak it up here. Then sneaking out with Suga will be hard, since the nurses’ station is right next to the elevator, but there’s a set of stairs down the hall to the right all we have to do is go down one flight and then we can take the elevator from there, where no one recognizes us.”

Suga’s silent, searching Yamaguchi’s face for something, and the first year becomes nervous about the reception of his plan, until the silver-haired teen asks, “So, you’re coming too?”

Yamaguchi nods, saying, “I don’t know if Tsukki will listen to anybody but me right now.”

Suga smiles, resolute. “We have a plan on how to get out of here.”

“Okay,” Daichi agrees.

Catching the ex-captain’s sleeve again before he can rise, Suga says, “I wanted to talk to you privately.” He looks to the first year. “Yamaguchi, do you think you can get the wheelchair? Daichi’ll help me with my shoes and stuff.”

Yamaguchi blinks and nods resolutely, turning away from the questioning gaze Daichi sends Suga’s way. _Things seem different between those two._ _Well, now’s not the time to be pondering it._ Shaking his head as he strides down the hall past patient rooms and scurrying nurses, he reviews their hasty plan. _Get wheelchair, sneak Suga out, meet up with the guys, convince them to rethink their plan._ Yamaguchi breathes deeply. _We can do this. If we’re lucky, we can get to them before they get to that house._ He doesn’t want to consider the alternative just yet.

Obtaining a wheelchair and bringing it back up to Suga’s room proves easy, almost suspiciously so. Once Suga is settled in, Daichi gets behind to push and Yamaguchi sticks his head through the doorway to make sure the coast is clear. After a minute of watching doctors and patients and visitors walk by, he sees a lull in foot traffic, and—hoping that one of Suga’s nurses won’t randomly pop out of a neighboring room—glances back at the other two.

“Go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -so, a bunch of stuff happened, huh? (i say as if i didn't orchestrate this)


	20. Blue Moon

“This is the place?”

The three teens stand at one end of a parking lot littered with broken bottles, cigarette butts, and other trash. At the other end stands a two-story building with a half-hearted “Blue Moon Apartments” sign tacked over an older motel sign. Two hooded figures lean on the balcony’s railing smoking and staring, apartment door open behind them, spilling music into the air. Striding toward the room listed in Nakamura’s file, Tsukishima doesn’t glance back. He knows Nishinoya and Tanaka are there, a pace behind him, and he knows Kageyama is not going to come. He shouldn’t have asked for the king’s help in the first place. It’s just, he was— _not desperate. I was just unsure of what—_

_Anyways, I was not desperate._

As they reach the room, Tanaka and Tsukishima flank Nishinoya, flattening themselves on either side of the doorframe. Nishinoya pauses with his knuckles a centimeter from the door, asking “Are you sure about this, Tsukishima?”

_This again?_ He’s halfway through rolling his eyes when he catches sight of the libero’s serious expression. Unlike the wing spiker, Nishinoya isn’t trying to talk him out of it. It’s an honest question. _Am I sure?_ In truth, he wasn’t initially. He’d come up with this vague plan knowing it was stupid and recruited his teammates with doubts still plaguing him, and planning and preparing was enough to make him feel like he was doing something. And then Wednesday night, he received that call from Yamaguchi. His friend had asked, in a thin, stuttering voice, “Do you—do you t-think I’m annoying? Honestly. Is my voice annoying?” It boils Tsukishima’s blood even now thinking of how that man convinced Yamaguchi that his voice is annoying, that he’d be a bother if he said anything. It pisses him off that Nakamura thinks he can do whatever he wants to whoever he wants and not suffer any consequences. Yamaguchi’s voice over the phone had been so unsure and so fearful, and at the time, Tsukishima didn’t want to admit how much it bothered him hearing his friend like that.

Caring so much—it’s risky.

So is his plan.

But somewhere during his conversation with Yamaguchi that night, he realized he was willing to take the risk. Mere planning wasn’t enough anymore.

“I’m sure,” Tsukishima says. He feels an unexpected sense of camaraderie as Nishinoya holds his stare for a moment, something he’s only felt on the volleyball court or pulling all-nighters with Yamaguchi.

The libero nods, proceeding to slam his knuckles against the wood more times than is polite; yet, it remains silent inside. The parking lot is mostly devoid of cars, but the teens don’t know what the teacher’s looks like anyways. This plan is contingent on Nakamura being home; they can’t just wait on the bastard’s doorstep for him to come home. Nishinoya knocks again, the middle blocker’s heart skipping a beat at the sound of footsteps from inside. They hear a chain lock slide out of place as well as two other locks click before the door swings open.

“Nakamura-sensei, right?” Nishinoya asks as Tsukishima and Tanaka hold their breath and flatten themselves further, unable to see the man who speaks next.

“Who—?” the teacher starts and then his voice changes, suddenly on guard. “You’re from the volleyball club. Whatever business you think you have with me can be dealt with at school.” He starts closing the door, and the first year nods at Tanaka. This is their only chance to get inside. The teacher continues, “It wouldn’t be appropriate for a teacher and student to—”

“To what?” Tsukishima demands, jumping forward, the three teens pushing their way across the threshold.

Ever since he found Yamaguchi on his doorstep that night, he’s thought of finding the man who hurt his friend, and ever since he discovered who did it, he’s thought of punishing him. And now he’s here. Tanaka kicks the door shut behind them, the odor of alcohol fills his nostrils, and Tsukishima grabs the man’s collar, fabric scrunching beneath his fingertips. The room’s empty of furniture except a desk and bed, so there’s not much worry of knocking things over in a fight, but the blonde’s thought process stops when he finds himself trapped in that cold, dark gaze. Hands clamp down on Tsukishima’s wrists painfully, squeezing mercilessly until he cries out and releases the man’s shirt. Nakamura seizes the opportunity and shoves the first year to the floor. Head swirling and fingers shaking with so many emotions he can’t grasp right now, Tsukishima blinks slowly, realizing how easily he’d been thrown around. It’d taken little effort on Nakamura’s part. _If that’s the case, then it would have been bad if I’d come on my own._ It pisses him off though. Gritting his teeth, he ignores Tanaka’s outstretched hand and stands. The only light source comes through the blinds.

“What do you kids want?” Nakamura asks, eyes sharp and calculating.

Tsukishima squares his shoulders. “I’d really like for you to confess.”

The man smirks, a sliver of white teeth peeking out between his lips. His eyebrows rise in mock confusion, voice infuriatingly calm when he says, “Confess? Confess to what? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Was the first year a fool to think that he could make this person crack, even just a little? _This bastard’s human too. He must have a weak spot. If we could exploit that…_

Tanaka jumps in. “Don’t play dumb. We know what you did.”

“Ha ha. I worried for nothing,” the man says, sweeping the room with his gaze. “You’re accusing someone of something without any evidence. Why don’t you kids go home before someone gets hurt?”

“You bastard, we’re not going anywhere until you confess. We’re going to hear it from your mouth.”

“He doesn’t have enough incentive,” Nishinoya whispers, eyes wide and focused on the teacher as if on his prey. The first year can tell that he’s ready to attack at a moment’s notice, and the aura he’s emitting is both scary and reassuring.

Nakamura sighs. “Listen, if you continue this, I’ll just have to take action when I return to school. I think we all know who the source of this lie is, so if you truly care about him I’d make sure to remind him how dangerous it is to spread lies.”

“You…” Tsukishima breathes, unable to form words.

“Dangerous for the reputation, I mean,” Nakamura adds, raising his hands as if to mean no harm, but the threat is clear. _How dare he fucking threaten Yamaguchi right now. He thinks he can get away with anything, but that won’t last much longer if I have anything to do with it._

Tsukishima smiles just as despicably. “You’ll confess.”

He yanks back his fist and punches Nakamura in the face. He’s only ever fought with his brother, his mocking disinterest and sheer height enough to deter others. But the few half-hearted punches he exchanged with his brother were nothing like this one. The force of it resounds in his bones, and more distantly in his heart too.

Nakamura winces and tucks his chin into his neck for a moment, pushing Tsukishima’s right arm down while he does. Before he can wind up for another hit, the teacher grabs the back of his neck and pulls him close, wrestling to keep his hands down. Tsukishima struggles to loosen the man’s grip, sweat dripping down his forehead and thudding heart blocking out all other sounds, because he knows the things this man has done. And Tanaka and Nishinoya are there, shouting inaudible things and attempting to pry the teacher’s arms away to avail, until the libero changes tactics. Nishinoya kicks the back of Nakamura’s knee hard and the man drops instantly. The first year is pulled down halfway, but manages to stumble a few steps away. Catching his breath, Tsukishima peers down at Nakamura on the floor beneath him.

_This is bad. This is so bad. I want to rip him apart._

Just the sight of the bastard’s face is enough of a spark. Before the teacher can gather his bearings, the blonde kneels and goes for a second punch.

“Wait, Tsukishima,” Tanaka splutters, trying to hold him off. “Shouldn’t we try talking again?”

The first year barely hears him, easily shrugging him off and hitting his target again and again as Nishinoya holds him down. He pummels this bastard with both hands—for Yamaguchi who didn’t get the chance to, for Suga who looked like death in the hospital, for himself and this damn rage burning like a thirst he can’t quite quench. Nakamura deserves this and so much more. _Suffer. Regret ever laying a finger on my friend. Be afraid._ So, he punches over and over, until Tanaka finally yanks him away.

“Take a breather, Tsukishima,” Tanaka snaps.

Eyes widening behind his glasses, he comes back to the present. Nakamura scoots himself against the wall, blood dripping from his nose. Tsukishima pulls his gaze to his own trembling, bloodied hand. _I’m not one to lose control like this. What am I doing? I’m supposed to be getting evidence._ The sound of panting—from several individuals—fills the silence.

“Pull yourself together before you end up regretting this,” Tanaka commands, expression fierce. “Leave it to us. You, get your damn head together again.”

Tsukishima crouches on the floor, hanging his head, trying to do just as Tanaka said. _To have that spiker of all people tell me this, I must really be crazy. This is pathetic. What the hell am I doing?_

“We’ve gotten our revenge, but we haven’t gotten closure, so just tell the truth and we’ll leave you alone,” the libero says.

“Truth?” Nakamura releases a breathy laugh. “Some people just look better on their knees.”

Tsukishima bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself from jumping on Nakamura again, fury making it hard to think straight; so, when the room’s stalemate collapses with the crash of the front door opening, the blonde’s jaw drops in confusion. Light pours into the dark room and everyone’s head spins to the doorway and the figure silhouetted there.

***

Escaping from the hospital was like something out of a movie. Yamaguchi had been relegated to the lookout and scout role, leading the third years through the hospital. It was tense at the time, but didn’t prove too difficult, and before they knew it, they were out in the parking lot and suddenly Yamaguchi’s attention is relegated fully to seeing that teacher again.

The students decide to head straight to Nakamura’s place, figuring they won’t make it to the park in time. One random worry turns into another which turns into another before the first year has any chance of resolving any of them. _I’m going to see that man again. You’re the one that offered to come along, Tadashi. Suga’s got to be anxious too, right? What kind of expression will that man have?_ He’s afraid he’s going to freeze when they arrive, scared that his throat is going to clog up and he’ll just be a cowering mess. It didn’t make sense to bring his notebook along but a part of him would’ve liked to have something to hold onto.

“A left at this upcoming intersection.” Suga points, eyes still glued to the navigation on Daichi’s phone while Daichi pushes the wheelchair at a jog. Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants and attempting to keep his mind from repeating the same cycle of thoughts, Yamaguchi forces his gaze outwards, truly seeing the scenery for the first time. The houses are dilapidated and close together, graffiti decorating street signs and fences. There doesn’t seem to be many people around, yet this place feels cluttered. Nakamura-sensei lives in this kind of place?

Yamaguchi inwardly groans. _I wasn’t going to think of him._  

_I’m going to see him again._

_I have to see him again in order to stop Tsukki._

_I won’t be alone, though; Nakamura won’t dare do anything with five other people present._

Suga cranes his neck around. “Asahi texted,” he announces. “He asks how things are, and he says his train will be in this evening.”

Daichi hums, seemingly mulling over his response. He replies, “It’d be a lot to explain right now, wouldn’t it? Tell him I’ll call in thirty minutes.”

“Got it,” Suga responds, attention sliding back to the phone. He starts writing back to the ace slowly, fingers shaky, and at first Yamaguchi believes Suga is just as nervous in this situation as he is. But as he looks up at the overcast sky, he remembers what Suga had explained about his exercises, some of which were to rebuild his muscle density and some to relearn intricate fine motor skills. Seeing him struggle makes the first year want to help, so he opens his mouth to offer to help, but stops. Suga’s trying so hard; it’s probably best to let him do it himself. Still, Suga notices and throws him a questioning look.

“I’m glad Asahi-san is going to be back,” Yamaguchi says, and he’s not lying.

“Me too,” Suga agrees. “I never got to thank him for being there that night he and Daichi were looking for me.”

“I bet he’s going to be really surprised when he talks to you,” Yamaguchi says, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he runs.

Yamaguchi almost ignored Suga’s call when he didn’t recognize the number, but something made him answer, and he’s glad he did. He hadn’t heard Suga’s voice in over a month and it was such a shock at the time. Suga just started talking to him, voice barely more than a whisper, and for the longest time Yamaguchi didn’t comprehend anything the other had said, thinking his ears were deceiving him. _This is crazy,_ he had thought. _Maybe I’m going crazy._

Yamaguchi exhales heavily, air cold when he breathes in. So much has been crazy lately.

Sometimes it feels like there’s no end to the stress and no escape from the memories, or at least not in his constant sleep-deprived state. He longs for an ordinary day where nothing happens. It doesn’t even have to be happy per se. Yamaguchi would be content with a simply boring day.

“It looks like we’re almost there,” he says quietly. “That place across the street?”

“Yeah, looks like it,” Daichi agrees.

In the grimy parking lot of what looks to be an old motel, a cold fist squeezes Yamaguchi’s heart. They’re so close that suddenly it’s truly real. The _‘what’s going to happen when…’_ scenario is now seconds away from being answered, and part of him wants to stop in his tracks, buy himself even a little more time before his world is surely upended again, but he doesn’t. Daichi says, “We’re late,” and Yamaguchi knows that his friend wouldn’t be. Not in this situation. So, that means that every extra second he spends out here, catching his breath, Tsukki is in there with that man.

He must keep his legs moving. He must see what’s on the other side of that door.

He walks, and it’s like being buckled into a rollercoaster that’s nearing the peak and the inevitable drop. There’s no way to rewind or avoid the descent, so the only thing to do is to prepare as best you can for the feeling of weightlessness. So, when they reach the door in question, Yamaguchi tells himself that it’s going to okay. _With everyone here, it has to be okay._

Nishinoya’s voice rises above the blaring music from an above apartment, Nakamura’s muffled response following. At the sound of the second voice, Yamaguchi shivers. Daichi’s quick to move, the former captain pushing through the front door and illuminating the darkness inside.

The second years turn in place, expressions untwisting from angry snarls. Nishinoya looms over the figure on the floor, hands balled into fists, his newfound look of surprise not enough to completely cover the lingering hatred in his eyes. Tanaka’s right behind him. Yamaguchi’s eyes land on Tsukki who’s crouching a few paces from the others—the bloodied hands and crazed atmosphere around him forming an image that burns itself into Yamaguchi’s retinas. It’s the half second at the peak when everything is visible. But then, the freckled first year notices Nakamura smiling with a bruised and bloodied face, and Yamaguchi’s stomach lurches with the plunge.

And he feels foolish for dreaming of an ordinary day.

Nishinoya seems ready to explain, but the look that Daichi casts him quells any excuse the libero was about to utter. Daichi’s been pretty quiet since their escape from the hospital, so when impatience leaks into his voice, Yamaguchi thinks, _of course, he’s really pissed off._

“Guys,” Daichi finally says, voice unsteady. “Let’s leave. It’s dangerous.”

No one moves. They barely breathe, everyone intentionally avoiding each other’s eyes. And Yamaguchi’s still trying to rid himself of the image of that man smiling. Always smiling.

“Well, well, well,” Nakamura murmurs, sounding like a comic book villain. “Sawamura, I wasn’t expecting to meet you here as well. Is this a team effort?”

Daichi’s sour expression changes as he determinedly ignores Nakamura and says carefully, “Guys, look, we can talk about this somewh—”

“We can’t!” Tsukishima snaps, causing everyone to flinch. He closes his eyes and spits, “We haven’t gotten him to confess yet. If we leave now it’ll all be for nothing.” Ignoring Daichi’s quiet appeal and outstretched hand, Tsukki stalks over to Nakamura and points, asking, “Haven’t you thought about doing this?”

Before Yamaguchi realizes it, his feet have unstuck themselves from the ground outside and carry him toward his friend. He wants to slap him for this absurdity. _How can you say, ‘talk to me, Yamaguchi,’ and then go and plan something like this on your own. Revenge is not yours to have. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but this is not how I want to be protected._ He stops just short of his friend, being this close he notices just how much Tsukki’s hands tremble, and the anger fizzles away.

“Y-yamaguchi?” Tsukki’s jaw drops, and Yamaguchi can tell his mind is racing with a million thoughts.

“Tsukki,” the freckled teen pleads. “Please. You could get hurt. Let’s just go.”

When the blonde finally pulls himself out of his own head, his expression shifts.

_What are you doing here?_ his eyes shout.

_Bringing you back with me._

Nakamura laughs with mirth.

Yamaguchi accidentally meets his eye. The quality of the air changes, turns suddenly dusty and warm. The shadows in his peripheral create an atmosphere so like that of the room from his memory that he freezes, unable to wrench his gaze away. The last time he saw those eyes so close they had looked at him like he was nothing. Worthless. Those eyes and that man took so much from him. It takes a second for Yamaguchi to realize that he is here and not there, but even so, he struggles to rescue himself from those memories.

Nakamura winks.

Yamaguchi suddenly forgets how to breathe, throat constricted tightly.

That’s when Tsukishima’s hand finds his, and the room comes back into focus, Daichi attempting to herd the stubborn second years from the room, the outside light enough to illuminate the overturned desk chair and wrinkled rug. Tsukki strides to the door, pulling the freckled teen along with him.

“It seems begging does pay off sometimes,” Nakamura announces.

Yamaguchi’s face heats and his eyes grow blurry, but Tsukki doesn’t waver. “Don’t listen to him,” he says, stopping only at the door when he finds his path blocked. Suga’s holding onto the doorframe so tightly that his fingertips turn completely white. Legs shaking and brow furrowed, the energy radiating from silver-haired teen silences Yamaguchi’s inquiry into his actions. _That…he reminds me of Daichi. And how did he manage to stand from the wheelchair and walk here._

“Excuse me,” Suga says naturally.

“Sugawara-san?” Tsukki’s eyes are as round as volleyballs, gawking between Yamaguchi and Suga.  Everyone turns in their direction at the sound of Suga’s name.

“Sugawara?” Nakamura says before anyone else can speak. He loses the grin he’s worn all this time, standing for a better look. Yamaguchi shudders even though he’s not the one being addressed, disgusted at the way the teacher rakes his eyes down the length of the setter’s body. “It’s been too long.”

***

“Don’t…” Suga starts, gritting his teeth and attempting another step. Daichi hurries to help him, and Suga steadies himself using his boyfriend as a crutch. Stepping forward, he fixes Nakamura with the coldest glare he can muster while the second years look on flabbergasted. His heart flutters restlessly in his chest and his face feels hot with the eyes of everyone on him, voice thinner than he would like when he continues, “Don’t talk to Yamaguchi.”

“Don’t talk to him, you say,” the man responds without missing a beat. He tilts his head and says, in a voice that’s supposed to be peaceable and open, “But will you stay and chat with me instead? There’s so much to catch up on.”

It’s instead more threatening than if he would have shouted. It’s like fingers brushing his skin unexpectedly. Suga shivers. _“What do you want to do? I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”_ This same voice, this same false kindness—and Suga hates that he’s remembering this now. Like the way Nakamura played with his hair and said Suga reminded him of someone. _That was just as scary as a violent Nakamura. It’s scary that he can look so normal but be hiding a monster beneath the surface._

“Suga,” Daichi whispers, and the setter knows he means, _Suga, let’s go_.

He knows it isn’t smart—that it’s more stubborn than anything—but he wants to face this man, wants to prove to himself that despite his fear, he can stand in the same room as him. Suga breathes. Yes, he has something to prove. _I’m not going to hide anymore. I tried to take my own life because I was trying to hide._ _I was trying to avoid having to face everyone, I think. But mostly myself._ The remnants of unclear memories swarming his mind makes him sure.

“Suga,” Daichi whispers more urgently. “Aren’t we supposed to get the guys and go? We’ve done that, so we can leave now. I know you know how dangerous this is.”

_I do. I know how dangerous it is and I know I told you that it was enough for me to just be here. I know I asked something of you that’s difficult. I’m sorry for making this so hard. But thank you. Without you, Daichi, I wouldn’t be able to stand here now._

“How about it?” the teacher asks, wiping his bloodied nose on his sleeve.

“There’s not much to catch up on,” Suga replies, trying to sound indifferent. “Just that _I’m_ the one who reported you and I’m looking forward to seeing you locked up. You can’t keep me silent forever with your tricks and threats.”

Nakamura stares at him long and hard, his boldness making the setter look away in search of a reprieve. _Damn it, Koushi, look up. You’re not weak. You said you’re going to face him._

“But you chose to go with me that time, even when you must have known what would happen. It sounded to me like you wanted it.”

“Oi!” Tanaka bursts. “What do you think you’re saying, bastard?”

_I did not want it._

_I understand so much more now. I know I’m not alone this time. I know I don’t—and didn’t—deserve what you did to me._

Suga raises his head.

“Coercion is different,” he says, voice heavy in his throat. “And I know you’re just trying to get under my skin. I can see the malice in your eyes. But you’re not going to see me cry anymore.”

He should end it here. He’s looked Nakamura in the eye and said what he needed to say; however, a large part of him teeters on the brink of snapping completely, wishing he could do something reckless like Tsukishima. _I can’t do that. Even if I were physically able…_

“Tanaka, Nishinoya. It’s time to leave,” he says with a resolute glare at the two. There’s a moment’s hesitation and a shared glance, but then the second years amble away, dragging their feet and hanging their heads. Daichi doesn’t so much as breathe until they’re across the threshold. Then, it’s slow going for the third years, Suga leaning heavily on his boyfriend’s shoulder, steps smaller and shakier than they had been five minutes earlier. He can feel Nakamura’s eyes on him and uncertainty dances beneath his skin _. Is this all really okay? What are we going to do about this situation? Can I really do this, for real, in a courtroom?_ These thoughts unsettle his stomach.

But it’s over for now. It’s done, or at least that’s what he tells himself so that he doesn’t have to think about the look in Nakamura’s eyes.

That’s what he tells himself until Nakamura speaks, one last attempt to rattle him.

And, oh what an attempt it is.

“Cry?” Nakamura muses, “Oh, you mean like how you cried after came?”

Suga’s heart stops. And so do his feet.

_Did he just say that?_

What he wanted to think about the least. What Nakamura knew would hurt the most.

The biggest thing he hasn’t come to terms with yet.

Body rigid, Suga wrestles the memories away even as they continue to creep up on him, the smells and tastes the hardest to rid himself of _. No. You’re not going to go there. Don’t think about it right now._ Glaring at the floor, his face flushes and fists clench. _Should I just ignore what he said? Should I deny it? Don’t overreact, Koushi. What must Daichi think? I’m sure he’s the only one who heard. What do I say?_ What does he say? No words come out when he opens his mouth, and he’s stuck there, forced to relive how he felt when Nakamura would single him out and he was unable to defend himself.Suga doesn’t want to remember it. He doesn’t want to remember the biting tone of Nakamura’s words, _“Stop crying,”_ or the suffocating smell of sex in that old car. He doesn’t want to remember how disgusting, how betrayed by his own body he’d felt.

Damn, he wishes he could punch this man. If Suga had the strength to raise his fist—

It still wouldn’t be enough.

Will anything ever be enough?

Suga’s legs wobble as he turns, but he locks his knees, focused first on keeping his tired body upright. It takes almost as much mental strength to raise his gaze to the teacher’s. Suga had a plan for how his third year was going to go—there are so many things he’d wanted to do, but Nakamura disrupted all of it. So much went wrong because of that man. So many mistakes, so many regrets, scars etched into his mind as well as his body. Like water in a pool, these things rise steadily, grow in number, and it’s all Suga can do to keep himself afloat with this broken body. Yet, that’s why he came here, right? Because he’s scared of drowning—because he’s scared of closing his eyes and letting himself drown.

“You’re right.” Nakamura’s eyes fill with dark, vindictive flames that search for signs of weakness. “I wouldn’t mind seeing those tears again.”

_Not this time. You won’t intimidate me into submission._ He’s done making choices he knows he’ll regret—Suga blinks slowly as his chest tightens—and he knows he’ll regret not doing this. He just… He just wants to fight back for all the times he previously didn’t.  

“I stand by what I said,” Suga replies firmly. _He won’t find weakness or tears here._ “You’re not going get under my skin again. I’m different from before.” He’s not alone. To ask for help and to lean on others is not being burdensome. Daichi’s shoulder is so solid and warm, and Suga would never have been able to do this without him, which is something he wishes his past self had understood. He supposes it’s fine as long as his future self continues to recognize how much harder it is to go it alone. “Soon, the police are going to come for you and I’m ready to do whatever I have to so that you’re put behind bars.”

“You say that now,” Nakamura says quietly, slinking toward them. “But what about when things start getting difficult?”

Daichi’s grip tightens on Suga’s waist as he shifts to position himself in the middle, raising his free arm like a barrier against the teacher. Catching Suga’s eye, he silently urges for a retreat.

_Not yet._

“I won’t change my mind,” Suga says, aware of Nakamura’s closeness, but not swayed by it.

“But things beyond your control happen. All kinds of things get exposed, fickle people will leave you.” Nakamura pauses to pointedly scan Daichi, disdain evident, even as he steps directly into the brunette’s arm. His attention turns back to Suga, saying, “And that’s when your true colors will show.”

“Suga.” Daichi’s patience is waning fast. He wants to get out of here. He’s got Nakamura within his grasp and it’s hard to hold back. Suga feels that way too, his heart thudding heavily in his chest as if trying to keep up with his racing mind. Even though he always tried to keep himself from dwelling on possible motives and intentions, he was never able to completely ignore those thoughts. He couldn’t wrap his head around any of it, but he’d find himself pondering those things. But something suddenly clicks, and it’s only because this man talks so damn much that Suga gets it.

“You said I reminded you of that boy you knew in high school. The shortstop,” he starts, unsure of whether or not he should go this far. “You said I looked like him and I figured that’s why you picked me. And maybe that’s what it was the first time, but not the second time, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I reminded you of yourself,” Suga suggests, and seeing Nakamura’s genuine surprise builds strength in his voice. Regardless of if he’s right—because he doesn’t know if he wants to be—simply seeing the teacher caught off guard is pretty satisfying. “You saw that I don’t play in games much and that I wasn’t quite the top of my class either, and you thought of yourself. But you _hated_ that I had friends that cared about me. You absolutely _hated_ Daichi and how much he cared, and you tried to turn me against him and convince me to stop trusting him. Because you never had that.”

Saying it aloud makes it feel truer than it had in his head. _Nakamura would always say he knew what I was thinking and feeling, he’d made a point of commenting on my friends’ closeness and their actions toward me… He tried to “advise” me that Daichi wasn’t trustworthy, and he seemed pleased to discover we’d argued._

“That sure is a bold, albeit farfetched, assumption there, Sugawara,” the man responds, smile far too twisted and eyes burning with irritation, mask cracking fast.

“I don’t think it’s very farfetched,” Suga exhales heavily. “You told me your story, remember? You told me how your team treated you. And you talk about me being exposed and people leaving me and all this other bullshit like you’re sure it’s going to happen, but that’s just because it happened to you, right?”

Smile vanishing, the teacher’s eyes take on a familiar manic gleam. Suga winces, remembering it well—that look Nakamura would get whenever mere words weren’t enough to control the teen, the look that precedes violence. Nakamura speaks quickly, leaning in further, words growing less understandable with each syllable. “I see you’re very brave now with these idiots behind you, but that front doesn’t fool me. Remember that I understand you better than anyone. I know your true feelings. I know how weak you really are. Whatever you may pretend, don’t forget you’re nothing, you’re useless—”

“Suga—” Daichi breaks off, staggering back a step while trying to keep the looming man at arm’s length.

“Just a worthless child so far in denial that you pretend to be fine and think you can just undo everything—”

“I know I can’t!” Suga shouts over the man as Daichi starts to pull him away. He’s listened long enough to Nakamura repeat these same things. _Shut up. When will I be rid of your voice? If I can just drown it out, scorch away the echoes from my memories, can I then claim freedom?_ And it feels like he’s burning now, flames swelling around his heart and propelling his words from his throat. “I’m so messed up because of you. But the thing is…” He beats an open palm against his own chest with nearly enough force to topple him. “This is only a temporary thing for me. This is not all that I am! This is not the me that’s going to exist five months from now or five years or fifty years!”

After a second of silence, he drops his head, burying his face in Daichi’s shoulder, catching his breath. _I just… I just yelled at Nakamura-sensei. I never thought I’d be able to confront him after last time._ Face scrunched up and thoughts spinning way too fast, Suga clings on tightly. He just knows that Daichi’s got him and despite everything that happened, he feels safe. He doesn’t even catch Nakamura’s response, just hears Daichi snap, “Oh, go to Hell,” as he practically carries Suga from the room.

Outside, when Suga’s knees give way, Daichi catches him and _actually carries_ him back to the wheelchair. After talking with Tanaka for a moment, Daichi says, voice tired, “For now, let’s get out of here.” The ex-captain begins pushing Suga at a brisk pace.

The silver-haired teen drops his face into his hands and sighs a breath that’s somewhere between a whine and a growl. _Did I make the wrong decision? Should I have ignored his comment? Should I have not gone at all? Maybe Daichi could have intercepted them before they even reached this place and none of this would have happened. Daichi? Yamaguchi? Anyone? C-can someone…maybe just…hold my hand?_ He can’t tell if he’s still mad or scared, body consumed by the jitters as if coming down from a caffeine high. _Calm down, Koushi,_ he tells himself, wishing his mom were here to tell him instead. _Calm down. Everything will be fi—_

He jumps when a hand touches his shoulder, and Daichi pulls back, an apology on his lips. _Wait._ Suga grabs his boyfriend’s hand before it’s completely gone. He closes his eyes. There’s so much going on his head, he wants to put off thinking about it until later, but he knows that’s not possible—not with everyone involved here and not with what this afternoon involves. He doesn’t want to think about any of it. But at least the jitters are fading.

Silently, they make their way to the Tsukishima’s original meeting place. The sun has broken through the clouds, blue dispersing the gray. Once at the park, Yamaguchi mentions that he’s going to update Kageyama and Hinata, so Daichi tells Nishinoya to call Asahi. The first and second years pace away to make their phone calls while Daichi helps Suga out of the wheelchair and onto the grass. The brunette sits down next to him.

“I’m not sure what we should do about this,” Daichi says heavily.

Nakamura’s bloodied face flashes in his mind. Suga doesn’t feel sorry for him after what that man did to him and Yamaguchi, but the thought of Tsukishima and the others getting into trouble worries him. He doesn’t know if there’s any avoiding it, which is probably what Daichi is thinking.

“I’ll call my mom. She’s been the one talking to the police, and I think she’ll have an idea of what to do,” Suga says eventually.

He pulls his boyfriend’s phone from his own pocket, unlocks it, and goes to recent calls before he stops, gazing at the sixteen missed calls from Daichi’s mom. He knew she’s been calling and Daichi’s been anxious about it, ignoring the calls, but he somehow didn’t think there were this many. It’s easy enough for Suga to say, _“I’ll call my mom,”_ but the same isn’t true for Daichi anymore. Suga remembers what it felt like when he thought his parents wouldn’t accept what happened to him; it was stressful and sad and that was just when he _thought_ his parents might not understand. _But to have someone you love actually turn their backs and refuse to accept you…_

Still, Daichi’s supported him no matter what.

Thinking about what he asked of Daichi before they left the hospital, he says, “Thank you, Daichi.”

They finally look at each other.

“I know it was hard not to say anything to him.”

Daichi sighs. “It was the only thing you asked of me. I slipped up at the end, but that’s because he—” The brunette stops himself, eyebrows scrunched down and lip between his teeth. His eyes are slightly glazed over, probably recalling the things that man said and did.

Suga doesn’t know what to say initially. Tsukishima’s words had to have gotten to him at least a little. _“Haven’t you thought about doing this?”_ He knows Daichi was angry on his behalf too, and maybe he shouldn’t have asked the brunette to hold back. _“I know this is a huge favor to ask, but if we end up having to meet him, can you not speak to him? If he speaks to you, don’t respond. If he goads you, or goads me, or insults me, can you ignore it and let me handle it?”_ It’s just that Suga didn’t want Daichi to get caught up in Nakamura’s web, because when that man speaks, everything goes wrong.

“It may not be what you wanted to do, but it was really helpful having someone there who was rational the whole time.” Suga smiles widely upon finding some relief in the sea of complicated emotions swimming inside him. “I was able to say what I wanted and be reckless like that because I knew you were there beside me. Who knows how it would have gone if neither of us had been thinking straight.”

Daichi’s expression relaxes a bit. “So, I was the designated driver?” he asks, reaching for the back of his neck and smiling shyly. “I’ll be it whenever you need me to.”

That smile resounds in his chest, and before he thinks, Suga throws his arms around Daichi’s neck in a fierce hug. The day’s only half over and the afternoon will be no easier than this morning. There’s going to be more questions, more attention on him, more uncertainty.

“Daichi,” he says quietly. “What Nakamura said about—”

“It happens. To a lot of people, men and women.” Daichi’s voice is a serious whisper. “It’s a bodily reflex and it doesn’t change the fact that it was rape.”

He doesn’t know what to say. Suga wanted to bring it up because he couldn’t bear the uncertainty of Daichi’s response, but at the same time, it’s something he wishes was forgotten with the later memories of that night. He hasn’t yet mustered the courage to forgive his body for that yet, despite the logic of Daichi’s words.

When Suga doesn’t respond, one of Daichi’s hands goes to pat his hair, and he says softly but earnestly, “You know that, right? It doesn’t mean you were okay with it or wanted it or deserved it or anything.”

“I—” He stops himself from voicing his first thought: _I don’t deserve you._ “Thanks for understanding, and thanks again for being my designated driver.”

To think it’s only noon. Suga sighs, determined to seize every ounce of comfort he can from this moment before he has to face the world again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -sorry for the wait; this fic is going to be finished one of these days


End file.
